


Chimaera Of Judgement

by JessicaX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Best Friends, Canon Related, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Cousins, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Crush, First Kiss, First Love, Future Fic, Gen, Ghosts, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Love Triangles, Lucid Dreaming, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Minor Character Death, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Muggles, Novella, Post - Deathly Hallows, Psychological Trauma, Quidditch, The Marauder's Map, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 54
Words: 217,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1198512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaX/pseuds/JessicaX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Potter has dealt with bullying from bunkmates and his brother throughout his years, and little else of consequence. Now he and Rose are entering year five, and he finds himself wishing for more excitement and fewer annoyances... but only the first will come true. Where is the headmistress? Why are the Hogwarts ghosts acting so strangely, and is this phenomenon connected with their two new professors, or the shyest sixth-year in Slytherin? [Novella, book-length, mostly canonical. Honestly, it's just very, very long, but I swear I put exhaustive effort into every single chapter!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shadows Of The Past

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION: SOME LOCATIONS AND PERSONS © J K ROWLING/WARNER. STORY AND ORIGINAL CHARACTERS/ELEMENTS ©2010 AUTHOR.  
> RATED PG-13 [for mild language, fantasy violence and negligible mature situations/dialogue]. I honestly don't think it rates any higher than "T", but let me know if you believe otherwise.

"The Grim is upon us at last!"

The door to Sybill Trelawney's classroom banged open and the woman herself dashed inside, shawls and robes billowing about unnaturally. Chest heaving, she conjured a gunnysack from nothing and began shovelling over a dozen crystal balls inside.

"Mark my words, they'll not take us without a fight! Oh, had I but forseen this!"

She was speeding past her favourite winged armchair when one of her many bracelets caught on the lace shawl draped over the back.

"Damn these infernal-" She sighed impatiently, magnified eyes blinking rapidly behind her thick spectacles. "Of course, I really should put them away, wouldn't want to break any."

In a few strides she had crossed to one of the many curtains hanging from the wall, concealing the entrance to her rather small personal chambers. There, upon the dresser in the corner, was an old wooden jewelry box. Opening it with a tap of her wand, she began pulling off her many bits and baubs and laying them inside.

"Mother's silver locket, Great-Great-Grandmother's ring - oh, Aunt Prudentia's brooch! If I ever lost-"

An explosion sounded from below; with a yelp, she unceremoniously stuffed the rest into the box, magically locked it, caught up the bag and dashed from both her bedchamber and classroom, screaming, "The Inner Eye tells me you shall rue this day!"

o o o

The icy chill that rippled through Narcissa Malfoy's body seemed to begin between the shoulders. This feeling, the one of fear and deepest despair, always revived in her that old curiosity - why there? Why did it originate from between her shoulderblades, and not from the head, or perhaps the heart? It quickly spread farther, sapping cheer and hope from every corner of her body, yet... But she did not dwell on this - something to ponder after her work was done here.

The bumbling Matthias Peele, a low rung in the Auror department, paced beside her, quaking so badly it was a wonder his Patronus (a GERBIL?) did not flicker and fade. Nevertheless, he'd been the best the Ministry of Magic would spare for this lowly task, and she had to remind herself how fortunate they'd been - SHE'D been - to get them to agree to her request at all. It had taken them ages to make up their minds, not to mention how long Narcissa herself had dawdled before putting things into motion. But tonight, at last, she could be shut of her obligation.

"H-here we are," Peele whispered, running his hand through his wispy brown pate as his silvery spell scampered around them, directed by his wand. The forbidding cloaked wardens didn't dare come near as long as the Patronus Charm was in effect, and they therefore drifted just out of the light's range, somehow watching the two intruders with their unseeing, eyeless faces. "I'll st-stand guard while you take care of... well, you know."

"Mmm." She spared him no more thought than this as she raised her wand and tapped the lock, listened for the CLICK!, and slipped inside the cell.

"Ahh, Cissy... yes, yes, they said you'd be calling soon. How's Lucius?"

Narcissa did not mistake her sister's leering smile, the flash of blackening teeth, for concern or sympathy. "You would know better than I, wouldn't you?"

Her laugh was more like a cackle. "True enough, true enough... but then, he'll have greased enough palms by now to have scraped a reduced sentence, won't he? Maybe he's convinced the pretty Ministry ponies that he's been Imperiused twice?"

"Enough, Bella," Narcissa sighed, tucking a white-blonde lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm not here to discuss Lucius's fate."

"Right." Bellatrix Lestrange's perfect nose wrinkled. "The revolting favour you've demanded of me."

"The revolting favour that will get YOU a favour in turn, may I remind-"

"You may, but you needn't. If I'd forgotten I was getting anything out of this arrangement, you wouldn't be cluttering up my cell right now. How you could've promised that execrable-"

"We're not here to discuss HIM, either," Narcissa snapped. This was already taking too long, and her nerves rattled louder the longer she lingered.

"Just like a house-elf," Bellatrix muttered. "Do your duty and move on, is that it? No time to visit with your poor, Death Eater sister?"

"Not if I want to visit with my poor, Death Eater husband before I'm forced to take my leave of Azkaban," she replied drily.

"Yes." She nodded in a displeased manner. "The noble houses of Black and Malfoy are in utter ruins, aren't they? After all our hard work..."

"All our hard work for nothing, you mean. Following that reptilian fool as he sought to murder a schoolboy for seventeen years, hoping he knew what he was-"

_"You shall not insult the Dark Lord!"_

Bellatrix was no longer lounging comfortably on her cot - now she was on her feet, grubby fists clenched in fury, heavy-lidded, sunken eyes popping dangerously. This gesture might have been more threatening if she wasn't unarmed.

"Still you desperately cleave to the hem of his robes, even as he decays? The Dark Lord is _dead,_ Bella - has been for years, and he'll not rise again! It's time you moved on, you're very fortunate to be alive as it-"

"I don't _care!_ " Her breath was coming in great, shallow gulps, even as her legs began to tremble; Narcissa had to admit she was a bit startled to see the tears threatening to leak down through her long-unwashed raven locks. "I would _prefer_ to have died at his side, rather than survive in this Muggle-loving world without him! His vision was grandiose, and had we not failed him, had he been able to realise his-"

"None of that matters now," Narcissa cut across her. "No one shall ever question your loyalty to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Bella. You were his most faithful servant 'til the-"

"You needn't tell me that which I already-"

 _"Enough!"_ Narcissa commanded. "These recycled arguments solve nothing, achieve nothing! Please, let us get on with business!"

The two sisters glowered at each other for a long moment. Then, when at last it seemed they truly had exhausted what for them passed as "small talk", Narcissa pulled from within her robes a small crystal phial.

"That's it, is it?" Bellatrix said, not bothering to hiding her revulsion. Narcissa did not answer as she held it up to her eyes; its contents appeared to be frozen on the inside, though its exterior was almost warm to the touch.

For the first time, her sister betrayed just how nervous she really was. "You're... you're just going to do it, are you? No wine and flowers?"

"Silence; let me concentrate."

Raising her wand, she held the phial at arm's length, concentrating as she uttered a string of words that slowly became an incantation. As the tiny vessel began to glow brighter, Bellatrix gave a little gasp. When Narcissa shot her a questioning glance, she glared daggers back, lip curling slightly.

Then, suddenly as it had begun, it was all over; Bellatrix was sitting on the edge of her bunk, looking distinctly green, and the now-empty phial had disappeared back into her sister's robes.

"I'll be checking in on you during my monthly visits to Lucius," she said smartly as she turned to leave. "If nothing's gone... awry, I daresay you'll be reunited with dear old Rodolphus at last."

"A pox upon the lot of you," Bellatrix growled. "Twisting my arm, forcing me into-"

"What a load of old tosh. We offered you a deal and you took it."

When the discomfort in the room had reached its breaking point, both sisters seemed to realise at the same moment that this family reunion was over; the prisoner leaned back in her filthy bed as the free woman tapped the lock with her wand, exchanging a stiff farewell.

"Good eve, Bella."

"Eve, Cissy."

As Matthias's laughable Patronus scattered the Dementors from their path, Narcissa drew her travelling cloak more tightly about her shoulders and put that nasty business from her mind, hoping she would never have to dwell on it again. Her husband lay just down the corridor, waiting to hear news of how Draco was faring at work, how the peacocks were keeping - and with a bit of luck and a Galleon or two, he would be back at the Manor in a few years' time...

o o o

_KNOCK! KNOCK!_

A heavily-veined hand searched upward for the thin bridge of a thin nose; it was startled to come into contact with squarish, wire frames. These were quickly removed to make way for a hearty pinch. "Come in."

Creaking of old hinges. She didn't look up. Why should she? She was so very tired - every day, she felt exhausted beyond measure. "H-Headmistress?"

"Pomona," she sighed, dropping her hand to stare blearily at her colleague. "What might I do for you?"

"Are you... feeling at all well?" she ventured. A crease played at the corners of her eyes. "You look like death."

"Don't invite him to come calling," she said as she replaced her spectacles and stared down the parchment on her desk. "I may just answer."

"Minerva-"

"You wanted something?"

The round, full face of Hufflepuff's Head of House fell further, squirmed, then solidified once again. "All right, then. The portraits near the Astronomy Tower have been clamouring about an infestation of rats nibbling the corners of their canvases. Really, I don't know why I'm up here making a fuss over it, it might be left to someone else who gives a-"

"Yes, yes, Pomona. Perhaps I'll have Peeves drop something on the rats."

Sprout's eyebrows arched with amazing speed. "Whaaat?"

"I'm sorry," McGonagall said gruffly. "I'm a bit distracted. I've no idea how to approach this."

"Approach what?" Curious, she bent over the desk. "New student, is it? What's to approach? Give it to an owl and hope they show up with the proper size cauldron."

"Look just the slightest bit closer, old friend."

A moment passed in silence as her colleague inspected the document. McGonagall took advantage of that moment to take several deep, cleansing breaths - except they no longer seemed to cleanse much of anything. Things had been a few degrees off for years, and though it had taken her some time to pin it down, she'd really known why from the beginning. Still, it washed over her like a tidal wave in unexpected moments, presenting itself afresh once again.

It just wasn't the same without Albus.

" _NO._ "

She chuckled. "Oh, yes. I'm afraid this has not been added to my inbox by a Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes employee."

"That's... that's something else again, it is." Sprout looked as if she'd seen a ghost - not altogether an overreaction. "What are you going to do?"

"Do? I'm headed over there tomorrow morning."

"You cannot be serious," the dirt-encrusted professor blustered. "I wouldn't touch that with a-"

"Luckily, we needn't touch anything - merely admit an eligible student into our school of witchraft and wizardry."

A beady gaze was levelled in her direction. "You're sure?"

"Quite." With that, she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it vanished. "Not that I'm particularly sure of how to approach such a situation, but I'm sure I'll manage."

"Old Hogwarts is in for an experience come next term, I suspect."

McGonagall allowed herself a thin smile. "Perhaps. Perhaps I'll see yet another mighty turn in the pages of history during my overlong lifespan. Perhaps not." She stood stiffly, pursing her lips for a moment. "Perhaps I am going to be late for the next period of Transfiguration, so if you'll excuse me-"

"Ahh, right," she chuckled in a half-hearted manner. "See you, then."

"Yes."

But as Minerva McGonagall emerged from behind the stone gargoyle and made her way toward her classroom where a dozen or so students awaited her instruction, she felt much older and far less positive than she had indicated to her lifelong friend and associate. Out of all the students whom had come and gone during her tenure at Hogwarts School, she had never been less sure of what to expect from one of them. The sky was the limit: this could either end just fine and dandy... or extremely, heinously unwell.

_END Chapter One_


	2. An Unexpected Guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXHAUSTIVE RANT:  
> Hi! My name is Lib- er, Jessica X. Welcome to the Big One - or what I hope will be my longest and least-awful fanfiction yet. It's taken me almost THREE YEARS (2.5) to really get it the way I want it (or close enough), and it's about time I unleashed it upon an unsuspecting fandom. REVIEWS! Am I still up to snuff?
> 
> And NOW we're getting to the meat of the story! Sorry about the opening chapter; I know I personally don't like flashback openers, but it felt like a necessary evil this time around. Put some things in the back of your head for the coming story. At this point, you've barely ready any of it, so understand: THIS FICTION WILL BE LONGER THAN DEATHLY HALLOWS. The rough draft is finished, so I assure you this is not some wild prediction or estimation. If you have no interest in reading an unofficial Harry Potter book online and are looking for some quick little storylet that will entertain you for a few minutes, this is the point where you should go "Crap, what am I getting myself into?" and go search for some nice slash. Many times I've picked up the first volume of a manga or caught an episode of a programme and been impressed enough to seek more... only to find there are twenty volumes or eight-or-nine seasons ahead of me. That's a colossal time commitment! Therefore, I feel it is my responsibility to inform you up front that there are still over fifty chapters, and they are all roughly the length of this one. Yep. So don't get to chapter twenty-nine and start wailing "WHEN WILL IT END?" because I've just warned you (though I'm sure it will be tempting to do so anyway :/). And even if you bail out now, thanks for reading this far!
> 
> [The section at the end of this chapter] is a new thing, something I haven't really done before, but felt was necessary given the content of my fic. It's a preemptive strike against flamers, and I realise that by doing so I may be inviting yet more, especially-Hellish flames. More literally, it's a sounding board set up in a question/answer fashion, even though no one's been asking :P Those of you who can appreciate a story based on its merits may ignore this entirely, or read it purely out of interest. I warn you, though, Gripes 2&3 contain DH spoilers, and Gripes 1&3 have spoilers for my own fiction. READ IF YOU DARE, MUAHAHAHAHAAA...

"Dobby?"

A pale, thin face poked its way into the drawing room, bright green eyes sweeping from the faded old tapestry to the curio cabinet filled with dusty heirlooms. Hesitating in the doorway, the young man decided to give the room a closer look before checking the rest of the house.

"Dobby, are you in here?"

But he found himself distracted from his search at once. The mysterious objects in the display case held his interest as always they did; sure, there was the Order Of Merlin, First Class, which was more or less ordinary other than the fact that not many people earned them, but then there were the things his father had told him about at bedtime, and when they went camping in Uncle Bill's tent. Sometimes he wondered if the stories were nothing more than faerie tales, but he caught himself fantasizing about them, imagining himself doing all the brave deeds his dad had done when he was a boy.

The old, battered diary... a yellowed fang the size of a boomerang... a ring without a stone... but the one that always drew his attention, that sent a wave of nausea and excitement through his stomach, was the severed snake's head, stuffed and mounted on a plaque. It almost made him question whether his parents had once been Dark, or known Dark wizards and witches, but all he needed was to talk to them again to know it was not true. Even so...

"Albie?"

Albus Potter's eyes squeezed shut, willing her to go away. "What?"

Her auburn hair almost preceded her head into the room. "Mum says supper'll be ready in a bit."

"Thanks, Lil."

Of course, it was too much to hope this would be enough to get rid of her, and sure enough Lily crept into the room to stand behind him. 'Here it comes,' he thought to himself. 'She can't resist...'

"Looking at Dad's, er, trophies again?"

"Yeah. I was looking for Dobby, but got sidetracked."

She rubbed her earlobe absentmindedly as she hovered near his shoulder, gazing into the case. "Why are you so fixated on those? It's not like any of them are Corhuxes anymore."

"Horcruxes," he corrected her reflexively.

"It's... it's kind of morbid. Mum says you shouldn't spend so much time staring at them, Albie, they're just-"

"Stop calling me 'Albie'," he snapped. "And who cares if I have a look? They're cool."

"They're creepy," she said in hushed tones, blue eyes flicking to the snake's head and back to his face. He saw this, and chuckled bemusedly.

"C'mon, it can hardly bite you anymore."

"Alb-"

"Can't you give over? Why should you care I'm looking at them? If we weren't supposed to look at them, Mum and Dad would've binned the lot ages ago!"

"Yeah, well-"

"What about this tapestry?" he said, gesturing over his shoulder. "It's not even _our_ family tree on there, yet we still have it!"

She sighed exasperatedly. "Oh, don't try that one on me, Al, you know that's only because there's a Permanent Sticking Charm on it."

Oops. "Yeah, well... anyway, you still haven't told me why you should care."

The corner of her mouth turned down. "Well... you're my brother. How can I not?"

It's the only argument she'd ever been able to give that made a dent in his hard-headedness, and he could already feel it working again. To avoid admitting this, he walked past her and said, "C'mon, Mum'll have kneazles if we take too long."

Even so, he grabbed her around the head affectionately and ignored her pleas for help as he half-dragged her toward the stairs, her feet trailing along the floor and rumpling the Axminster.

As they reached the bottom step, the doorbell rang. Glancing at each other and grinning, they raced to the front door, and after a brief scuffle, flung it open.

"Uncle Ron, Auntie Hermione!"

"Oh, Lily!" their aunt cried, lifting her off her feet as she squeezed her into pieces, muffling Lily's slightly-smaller face in her bushy brown hair. "How's my favourite niece?"

Ronald and Hermione Weasley, Albus's favourite relatives, had been planning to drop by and spend the night for a special occasion. Though beaming up at the adults, Albus already found himself peering between elbows for the children - their eldest was his age.

"Wotcher, Al," Ron muttered, shaking his hand as he stepped in from the porch. "How's this and that?"

"Good, good," Albus said, grinning still wider. "Where's Rose and Hugo?"

His uncle shrugged, tossing a walking stick into the umbrella stand shaped like a troll's leg. "Oh, they wanted to arrive by Floo. Seem to think it's a treat, more adventurous or something."

"Listen to him," Hermione told them conspiratorially as she released Lily. "He only prefers to Apparate himself so as to prove he's capable."

"Oi, that's hurtful, 'Mione! I just don't see the point of wasting perfectly good Floo powder when we can-"

"Rubbish," she whispered as she led them away from the stoop and Uncle Ron closed the door; Arnold, the family's aged Pygmy Puff, was drifting lazily through the entrance hall as they walked inside. "Did I ever tell you about the time he Splinched himself in his schooldays? Well, there've been several occasions, actually, but he once left behind half an eyebrow! Kept me in stitches for-"

"If you're done, dear," Ron said pointedly, trying to scowl as if offended. "Let's hush up before we wake Mrs Black."

"Oh," Lily said, smiling slyly. "Haven't they told you?"

"Hmm?"

"Mrs Black is gone!"

"Really?" Hermione gasped, glancing up at a pair of floor-length curtains. "But- but how? We've all tried everything, a thousand times, and nobody could-"

"Dad thought of it," Albus said proudly. "Just came to him one day."

"What finally got rid of the old bag?" Ron asked.

"Paint thinner."

His eyebrows knitted. "What's that?"

"Just what I said," Lily muttered.

"It's a kind of Muggle potion," Albus continued as they came to a halt in front of the curtains. "Dad said he figured they should give it a go, since they'd tried every magical solution in the book, and sure enough, no more Mrs Black. We can't get the frame down, though..."

"Sounds like one of Granddad Weasley's mad notions," Ron laughed, pulling back the curtain to reveal the ornate, empty frame. There was still a kind of half-hearted wheezing emitting from the blank canvas.

"Oh, I can't believe I didn't think of it!" Hermione said exasperatedly. "It's so simple!"

"That's probably why," Ron said knowingly. "Always straining at that twenty-pound brain of yours, never letting your thoughts flow."

"Like you do, you mean," she shot back. "The original Mr Relaxed-State."

"Kids!" The shout came from the stairwell up the hall to their left, cutting off Ron's retort. "Supper!"

"Is your father downstairs?" Ron whispered.

"Yeah," said Lily.

"Good."

As the three descended the steps into the kitchen, a red-haired witch turned from where she was messing about with the stove to face them. There was a greasy smudge on her cheek, and her bright eyes swept quickly over her children to the guests standing behind them. Just as her mouth dropped open, Albus noticed Ron raise a finger to his lips, and she closed it again, rolling her eyes.

The back end of a man was protruding from under a rather aged dresser as he attempted to wrest a wriggling something from underneath. "Blast you, Bandy, you mangy thing! Can't you behave like a normal cat?"

Their uncle's shoes echoed on the stone floor as he paced toward the middle of the room. Albus and Lily's mother and aunt both tensed. The rump under the dresser had stopped moving. All at once, Ron withdrew a wand from inside his robes as the man slid from underneath the chest and they both shouted, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Ron's wand sailed through the air, and the other man caught it just as he had finished rising to his feet.

"One of these days, Harry..." Ron gusted, shaking his head as he strode forward to take back his wand.

"Never in a million years," Harry Potter said with a grin, pulling him into a brief one-armed hug. Albus's father was almost his mirror image, save that Albus did not need glasses, and his jet-black hair was not greying at the temples. There was also the oddly-shaped scar on his father's forehead, the one that brought stares from passerby everywhere they went; Albus had often voiced the wish that he would find a way to remove it for his father's sake, but Harry always told him it was an important reminder of what happens when people talk to snakes too much. "Did well that time, though, might've got me if I hadn't heard the footsteps..."

"Stop trying to stroke my ego, you prat." Glancing over, he said, "Any sign of my little monsters yet, Ginny?"

"Not yet," Albus's mother replied, now wiping the grease from her face with an old rag. "Did you send them on ahead?"

"Yeah," he said with a frown. "You don't reckon they got lost?"

"Hmm..."

"Maybe we should check Borgin and Burkes," Harry muttered.

But at that moment, the fireplace erupted in green flames, and out spun two soot-covered figures, coughing and sputtering. The boy pitched forward onto the floor.

"Rose Nymphadora!" Aunt Hermione gasped, stomping across the kitchen. "Where on earth-?"

"It's Hugo's fault!" she coughed, brushing debris off her shoulders. "The git said it wrong!"

"Did not!" he whinged as his mother helped him up, scrubbing at his face with her handkerchief. "I said it perfectly fine!"

"You said 'Gimrold Place', not Grimmauld!" Rose sighed with an eyeroll. "Blimey, it's a wonder you don't gag on your own tongue!"

"Enough, please," said Hermione wearily. "Be glad you had extra powder with you."

"Told you they'd need it," Ron said under his breath.

"All right, Al?" Rose called to him as she shook the soot from her flaming orange locks. She seemed to have shot up over the Summer, making her appear to be all elbows and knees and (as always) just a bit taller than Albus. Still, the button nose and mischievous blue eyes hadn't dulled in the slightest, and they lent her an intense sort of beauty.

"Better than you, I suppose," he said, stifling a grin.

As they all became more comfortable in the kitchen (Rose and Hugo eventually magicked clean), Albus's older brother, James, came down to dinner. His reddish-brown hair, usually an untidy sort of tidy, hung clear down to his shoulderblades.

"What's all this?" Uncle Ron laughed at the sight of him. "You fronting for the Weird Sisters, now?"

"Gerroff," he muttered, shoving his Aunt's fawning hand away from him and adjusting his spectacles. "Potions homework... I just, wanted to see if it worked, that's all."

"And he's going to let me cut it before school starts," his mother said loudly. "If he wants us to let him buy that shiny new racing broom he's been saving up for."

"C'mon, Mum, give it a rest! I'm lead Chaser, and Dad's old Firebolt just isn't fast enough to keep up with the Slytherin team's Nimbus Two-Thousand-Twenty-Nines - I don't care _how_ many disasters it survived!"

"Then give it back," said Harry bemusedly.

"Oh, get out of it," said James sulkily under his breath; his father knew full well he'd do no such thing until he had his own broomstick. James had been selected for his House Quidditch team almost before he even tried out, and had become increasingly nauseating about it ever since.

Right about then, a heavily-wrinkled old house-elf wearing a gold locket hobbled toward the table, straining slightly under a silver tray of onion soups. Aunt Hermione immediately rose.

"Let me help you with that, Kreacher!"

"Not necessary," he wheezed. "The day Kreacher can't serve Master's supper is the day Kreacher's head shall join his ancestors on the wall."

"Which might be any day now," Harry breathed once Kreacher was out of earshot, digging in the pantry. "Hate to say it, but... he's really having trouble. I've tried offering him clothes, said he could keep living here in his retirement, but..."

"How did he take you getting rid of Sirius's mum?" Hermione asked, a sympathetic crease playing at her brow.

"Not well," Ginny whispered. "But we've got him convinced it was only because she was too loud and we were trying to quiet her down."

They worked their way through the soup, a delicious shepherd's pie, and a pudding that made Aunt Hermione ask for the recipe before Uncle Ron cleared his throat and withdrew a rather flat, square package from beneath his cloak.

"Well, as I'm sure you'll remember," he said rather pompously as Albus's father rolled his eyes, "today happens to be somebody's birthday. Now, I wanted to get this to you last year on your fortieth, but I couldn't get the permits and the gold together. Finally, however..."

But by this time, Albus's father was already ripping the brown parchment off, a curious smile playing over his features. At last, he displayed to the room a blank frame.

"What, you don't think Mrs Black's empty portrait is enough?" he laughed.

"Ask him to come out," Hermione said, beaming.

"Er..." Harry held the frame at arm's length. "Hullo?"

And as the two families stared, a wizened old face edged into view, half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose. Mouths fell open, and Hugo gasped.

"Happy forty-first, Harry," the painting said, blue eyes twinkling as he smiled. "I hope you'll not think me rude for neglecting to buy you a gift, but it is rather difficult for me to pop down to Diagon Alley these days."

"Not at all, Professor," he replied automatically, his own eyes brimming with tears. "Where- how did you wrest this from Hogwarts?"

"I didn't," Ron said, leaning back in a self-satisfied manner. "Got another one made - and you wouldn't believe what it took to stop them keeping it for themselves and hanging it in the Ministry, I think they only handed it over cos I was gonna give it to you - course, you always get the best of. Hang it up next to Phineas if you like."

For the first time since their meal had begun, Albus found he wanted it to be over. Before he could excuse himself from the room, more of his father's words reached his ears.

"This- you guys- cheers," Harry finished feebly, wiping his eyes on his napkin while trying in vain to make it unnoticeable. "It's perfect."

o o o

"That was old Professor Dumbledore, wasn't it?"

Albus nodded, bouncing the miniature rubber Quaffle off the wall of his room, catching it when it came back to where he was leaning against his bureau. He'd felt depressed since supper, and Rose, oddly insightful as ever, had cut straight to the heart of it without meaning to.

"Cor, I had no idea Dad was planning a great gift like that," she said, stretching out on Albus's bed, hair hanging nearly to the floor as she stared at him upside-down. "And for over a year, no less!"

"Hmm."

"Don't you think it's brilliant?"

"Whatever."

His cousin rolled over onto her stomach, eyebrows raised at him. "You don't?"

"Sure I do, I just... it's weird."

"What is?" she scoffed. "Never seen a moving painting before?"

"Not that - I mean, Headmaster Dumbledore. He's... he's dead and all."

"Well, yeah."

"And I was named after him."

At this, Rose frowned with dawning understanding. "Oh... but still, might be nice to get to talk to him now, right? Find out more about the man."

"Yeah, sure - what fun. You'd like to have a talking painting of Aunt Nymphadora in your room, then, Rosie? Suppose that wouldn't be weird at all."

The frown deepened. "Point taken, mate. Wow, I'm sorry."

"I'm... I'm not saying I blame your dad for doing it," he said carefully. "I mean, to everybody else I guess this is the best gift ever, and it is dead amazing that he could pull it off. It's just-"

"Hey, you don't have to defend yourself from me, Al; I hear you."

The silence deepened as they stared at the old coat-of-arms painted on the wall, thinking about the complicated matter of namesakes and those passed on. Even as it disturbed him, Albus began to see how it could be truly interesting to speak with the old headmaster's portrait, and wondered what he might learn.

Before they could think any farther on this, a knock sounded at the door. "You lot not getting frisky in there, are you?"

 _"James Sirius Potter!_ That is dis _gusting!"_

"All right, all right, gerroff me, Mum, I- _hey, put that wand away!"_

Albus and Rose glanced at each other and sighed toward the ceiling as one; Albus's brother had always maintained that cousins of opposite gender made for strange best friends, and constantly reminded them of this. Being that they'd been thick as thieves from the pram, both had long ago become desensitised to his gleeful chiding, and even appreciated the levity now and again - though if they weren't in the mood it was simply tiresome.

"It's almost bedtime, you two," Albus's mother called through the door (and gritted teeth).

"That's my signal to swap spots with Hugo," Rose sighed, rolling forward onto the floor, where she landed in a crouch.

"Don't let Lily keep you up all night jabbering away."

She laughed. "Like I can stop her. G'night, Al."

"You too."

"And..."

He glanced up to see her hand hesitating on the serpentine knob. "Well, er... sleep tight."

As Rose exited and Hugo poked his bushy, light-brown cranium in, Albus realised she'd been trying to make him feel better about Dumbledore's portrait joining them at Number Twelve. Not entirely a successful effort, but he appreciated it all the same.

o o o

The next morning, Hugo woke Albus by whinging loudly at his mother when she came in to force him into a bath. Albus wasn't keen on speaking to him the rest of the day.

After breakfast, Rose and Albus set out to explore the rest of the house. They'd done it a thousand times, and it hadn't turned up much since they were eight, but it was more fun than yet another game of Exploding Snap or tormenting Lily and Hugo. Also, it afforded them the opportunity for idle chatter, which they didn't get as much of during the Summer holidays.

"Never again. Not after last year's fiasco."

"Come off it, Al, that was a fluke - you've always done so well when we play at the Burrow! And how could they have known it was a thestral knocking you off your broom?"

"But they _all_ laughed. Even you!"

Rose had the decency to let her ears pinken as they ran their hands behind the tapestry, checking for hidden doorways they knew didn't exist. "Y'know, I'm starting to get sick of apologising for that - I only laughed because I could see what really happened. You don't know how comical the whole thing looked!"

"Genevieve Nott was out there, though," Albus growled. "I might've lived it down if the Slytherins hadn't got wind of my spectacular dive."

"It wasn't your fault," Rose reiterated forcefully. "And hey, I tried to back you up later, but they were all too busy l-" But she quailed under his glare.

"Leave it. I'm not putting myself through the pain and suffering again; I'll just keep cheering you and James on."

Rose sighed resignedly. "If you like. Still say you'd make a better Seeker than that Creevey prat."

"Well, anybody would," Albus said conversationally now the pressure was off him. "How could they let a first-year on the team, anyway?"

"It's his size." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Wood confided in me that she only picked him cos he had the right build and didn't fly straight into the goal posts at tryouts."

"Mm."

"'Course, in that last game he did all right - actually caught the Snitch! Granted, we were a hundred and eighty points down, and I think it was an accident, but... hey, what's wrong?"

Albus blinked, turning his attention back to Rose. "What? Sorry, I-"

"Oh, not this again," she said, glancing at the curio cabinet he'd just been eyeing.

"Sorry," he said more earnestly.

"Let's get it over with," she gusted airily, grabbing him by the arm and jerking him over to the glass. As she did so, he thought he heard a creak outside the door, but when he looked nobody was there; must have been Kreacher skulking around.

"Here lies the remnants of what used to contain bits of Lord Voldemort," said Rose, sarcastically pompous as her father. "They're old, they're musty and dusty, and they don't do anything. Hufflepuff's sippy cup, Slytherin's ugly necklace, Ravenclaw's formerly-fabulous headgear, and some other rubbish. All they're good for now is paperweights."

"Dammit, Rose, don't you realise?" said Albus in hushed tones; he knew he sounded quite silly, even mad, but he couldn't help it. "The most contemptible wizard of all time split his soul into seven parts and sealed them away, one-hundred-per-cent sure nobody would ever find them, and along comes my dad and-"

"Stabs them to pieces," she finished in a bland tone. "You've told me. Billions of times."

"But wouldn't it be great to have an adventure like that? To go toe-to-toe with evil, to save the wizarding world? I'd kill for that kind of excitement!"

"Kill?"

His fervent grin slipped a notch. "Okay, fine, but I might chop off a leg or two."

Rose laughed reluctantly. "Thing of it is, Al, we're not likely to trip over Salazar Slytherin's cursed pants or something. Obviously it might be fun, a decent conversation starter, but... it's just not going to happen! We're never gonna hunt down our own Philosopher's Stone, or raid the Department of Mysteries, or any of it!" When Albus continued to look mutinous, her voice lost all edge. "Or maybe we will - who knows? But the old rubbish in this case isn't where we're gonna find honor and glory."

"Fine, fine," he sighed. "I know I'm being stupid."

"Not stupid, mate. Only swept up in a pipe dream."

At least heartened that she didn't think he was dim for having fantasies, he coughed and suggested they move on to Lily's room - assuming, of course, that Lily wouldn't be needing it.

_END Chapter Two_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GRIPE 1: You're stealing Plot Element X or Character Development Y from Johnny Q. Public's fanfiction! You must answer for these crimes!  
> JESSEX: No, I really mustn't. Sad though it is to say, I have so little free time as it is that I have not been able to read a fanfiction that wasn't written by a very dear friend in several YEARS. Also, I don't believe it the wisest use of my time to comb and Schnoogle to see if people have done the same thing as me before, because the answer will always be "yes" - we live in a recycled world, everything's already been done. The only reason I'm addressing this is because now Deathly Hallows has been out for a while, I'm sure a ridiculous amount of fic has sprung up on the subject, and they're all bound to seem similar in certain ways. Honestly, if there's anything glaringly obvious (like the inclusion of an original character named Jezabel Skirrow, complete with intentional misspelling of given name), it's a remarkeable coincidence - otherwise, it's probably just something that makes sense.
> 
> GRIPE 2: But Bellatrix is DEAD! We saw her die!  
> JESSEX: I'm only going to say this once. You saw her hit with a jet of light, and that's as specific as it gets - Molly being who she is, I believe it more likely that it was a Stunner. This very thing happened to Sirius before he fell through the veil (Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light / the second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest), and Harry refuses to believe he's dead because he must be able to get out from behind the archway, having only been Stunned. Let's not forget that Professor McGonagall was hit with three Stunners to the chest, and while it was no laughing matter and she was in St. Mungo's for weeks on end, she lived to tell the tale. As so many before me have vehemently stated, Sirius was Stupefied, and ONLY died when passing through the veil - therefore, since the description of the events is almost EXACTLY the same, we can make a very strong argument for the aforementioned character's survival. All I'm trying to say is that both are EQUALLY POSSIBLE, and for the sake of this fiction, let's say she survived, all right?
> 
> GRIPE 2b: But we saw Sirius get hit with an Avada Kedavra!  
> JESSEX: Ahh, you saw that in the MOVIE. The movies also have a very long bridge connecting the Owlery to the rest of the castle, deleted all house-elves from years three and four, and changed the colour of Hermione's dress robes to a lurid pink. Let's stick to canon, thank you. By the by, I don't personally consider JK's interviews as canon; I'm not saying she doesn't have the right to control the world she invented... but if she didn't actually write it into the books, it's the literary equivalent of "hearsay". I'm sure some of you were thinking about that one, too.
> 
> GRIPE 3: Harry lost the Firebolt, it "spun to the earth"! Now here you are, trying to say he's had it all along, and STILL has it!  
> JESSEX: Fair point, but let's think about this: a goodly amount of time passed between Harry's final exodus from Privet Drive and the moment the Ministry fell to Voldemort's clutches. It's probable (more like a dead certainty) that somewhere in that time, a Muggle would have found the broom, accidentally flown around the block, been grounded and Obliviated by the Ministry, and the Firebolt confiscated pending further investigation. Eventually, long after everything was over, someone would have recognised it as Harry's broom, or he would have gone looking for it (as it was the first gift his godfather ever bought for him other than the toy broomstick he was too young to remember, I should think he might) - so even if the Ministry didn't gladly put it back in his hands, a few "Accio!"s in and around Little Whinging should have produced it. As for whether or not it survived the fall... it's got a diamond-hard polish, and it flies! As dandy as the Firebolt model is, I wouldn't be surprised if it had an anti-crash braking charm of some kind on it, as well.
> 
> And that should take care of most of the obvious quibbles. Honestly, I've tried my level best to stick to canon as much as humanly possible while still writing the story I wished to see on page... so please forgive me the one or two "AU" moments that you may frown at. Thank you, and please enjoy my Hogwarts opus!


	3. One Gift Becomes Three

The following weeks seemed to rush past, and in that time the school lists came winging their way toward students all over the Isles. Albus hardly spared his a brief glance; he was more looking forward to going back to Hogwarts itself than which specific books he'd be bringing. Besides, at that moment Lily had come bursting into his room complaining that his owl had left droppings all over her Transfiguration essay, and he was forced to spend the next half hour alternately apologising and shouting at her for needlessly pestering him about it.

The Potters had queued up in front of the kitchen fireplace, preparing to head off for a full day of shopping, when James remembered his birthday gold was still stashed in his secret hiding place (Albus knew it was in a magical book called 'How To Stretch A Sickle', which opened with a password to reveal a modest-sized vault; the only reason he hadn't taken advantage of this was because he knew James would pound him within an inch of his life if-and-when he found out). They were on point of leaving again when Lily decided she _needed_ to change her jumper, because Joseph Moran was supposed to be meeting her and she wanted to look her best. Finally, when their father threatened to have the three of them pack the entire house without magic, they were off.

The Leaky Cauldron had a modest crowd that day; a couple of young children were giggling conspiratorially at the bar, perhaps hoping the toothless old barkeep would forget to check their ages and sell them a tankard of firewhiskey. A mane of long, black hair disappeared up the stairs as soon as Albus had spotted it - perhaps a hag not wanting to be found in public? He even thought he saw a vampire in the corner booth, but when he looked again the person's hood was up, hiding his or her face from view.

Once in the dingy alley behind the bar, their mother took out her wand and tapped a brick. Instantly, the wall became an archway, and a winding, cobblestone street full of witches and wizards came into view, lined with enticing shopfronts and curbside peddlers. Waving over his shoulder casually, James took off into the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley before his parents could stop him, his hair now hanging just below his ears thanks to his mother.

"Never been much for family outings, that one," Lily muttered to Albus quiet enough so their parents wouldn't hear.

After dropping by Gringotts Bank for their gold and Flourish and Blotts for the new books, Lily ran into Hugo lingering around Eeylops Owl Emporium and stayed behind to chat with him, and Rose was found watching James through the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies with a kind of mingled awe and longing. Passerby might have thought she was desperately head over heels for the boy, but Albus knew what she truly ached for was the Firebolt The Third he was forking over a small fortune to procure.

"That broom is too good for him," she said listlessly.

"Everything is," Albus gusted. "C'mon, let's get you away from here before you drool on the glass."

Albus and Rose's parents had run into Neville Longbottom, an old friend and current professor of Herbology at Hogwarts, and said something about having a pint in the Cauldron with him before heading off, leaving Albus and Rose to wander into the Apothecary by themselves to stock their Potions ingredients.

"So what do you reckon? Go back to Fortescue's after this?"

"Eh, Fortescue's is decent, but the flavours all kind of... taste the same."

"Yeah," Albus said, digging into a barrel of newt eyes. "My dad says the ice cream was loads better when Fortescue himself ran it."

"We could go back to strolling up and down the street for no reason whatsoever."

It was as good a plan as any, which is how they came to find themselves dawdling around a secondhand shop when the first truly interesting thing of the day happened. Expecting to see a heap of grubby cauldrons and broken quills, what did they find instead but the white-blonde head of Scorpius Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins skulking in the back, snickering and leering at the customers.

"Quick, think up an escape plan," Rose hissed.

"Too late - he's spotted us."

"Well, well, well," he drawled as they neared, pale pointed face and pug nose haughtier than necessary. "If it isn't Almost Potter and his Red Rose, the kissing cousins."

As his friends snickered appreciatively, Albus saw Rose's face grow stony, and he couldn't blame her; neither of them had ever got on with the Slytherins.

"So, what're you doing here?" said Scorpius. "Shopping for your wedding? I suppose it's the best your lot can do; you can't even afford to look for spouses outside your own family."

Rose made to rush him, but Albus's hand flew out to stop her, realising an instant too late it would have been less embarrassing to let her attack the boy. Scorpius let out a bark of laughter.

"See how they can't help but lock fingers every other minute? Even us purebloods aren't _that_ desperate to avoid marrying Mudbloods!"

"Get bent, Malfoy," Albus snapped, still struggling with his cousin.

"Then again, when your parents are already blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers, it's all just posturing, isn't it?"

Rose's teeth were bared. "Better a blood-traitor's daughter than son of a ferretty, cowardly _git!_ "

Malfoy's eyes flashed, and in the blink of an eye wands were out. "Tough words, Rosebud. Got the wood to back it up?"

As they glared each other down, Albus's eyes scanned the scene; the stringy Genevieve Nott hanging on his every word as if spellbound, the sallow Atticus Malkin paging through some mouldy old book as if not even paying attention, the burly Timothy Goyle looking bluntly determined to crush all opponents. He noted one was missing from their number.

"I'll protect myself if necessary," Rose was growling, fingers gripping her wand still more tightly.

"Like it'd be any challenge snuffing a _Weasley,_ " Scorpius said, spitting out the name as if an unexpectedly bitter candy. "But then again, if I did, three more would probably spring up underfoot. Y'know, like a fungus."

"Where's Pucey?" Albus asked casually; the vindictive beast that usually hibernated in the back of his mind was awake and hungry. "Only I'm surprised you feel safe breathing the same air as other wizards without the full force of your personal guard."

The malicious grin slid off his face. "What's that, Potty?"

Albus blinked innocently, pressing his advantage. "Oh, didn't you know? Word around the school is that you can't block even the simplest jinxes. Or was that not you who got sent to the hospital wing by Elliott Creevey?"

Malfoy was now quaking with anger. "Why you-"

"Careful now, Scorpius," came a cold, sneering voice from behind them; Albus and Rose whirled to find themselves looking up into the sharp features of Scorpius's father, Draco. Aside from the pointed nose, yet colder eyes and receding hairline, the two Malfoys might have been stamped from the same mold. "We wouldn't want to spill any magical blood out of hand - no matter how marginally the blood qualifies."

Albus could feel his cheeks rising with colour as Scorpius's friends giggled. It seemed unjust that they were being insulted by an adult, when raising their wands to him would be unforgivable in the eyes of the wizarding community. Apparently, Scorpius also felt he'd been handed an injustice.

"But Father, they-"

"Enough," he snapped. "I don't see why you would want to visit such an... unpleasant establishment in the first place. Not that young Mr Potter and Miss Weasley aren't right at home. Come."

Simultaneously gleeful and surly at his father's handling of the situation, Scorpius and his friends stalked past, Malkin pocketing the book as if he owned the place and Goyle making sure to squeeze his girth right between Albus and Rose, shoulders thumping roughly into their upper arms.

"Merlin's greying pants, are they irksome," Rose hissed, staring at Genevieve's scraggly black plait as it disappeared through the doorway. "You'd think after Voldemort snuffed it they'd hang up the blood wars, shake hands and have done with it."

"Yeah, well, don't let 'em get to you," Albus whispered, rubbing his budding bruise. "I mean, they're a lousy sort, but it's not like they could really take us."

"I dunno," she breathed skeptically, at last stowing her wand. "Two on one aren't good odds, are they?"

"Well, er, maybe not. But we'd win out over them in a civility contest any day." Catching the look in her eye, he added, "Not that it's any comfort."

Eventually, they met up with the rest of their kin in their Uncle George's joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was easily one of the most popular sites on Diagon Alley, and Uncle George raked in gallons of Galleons every day from this and his other three branches. While most customers couldn't stop laughing and grinning, Albus noticed both his and Rose's parents appeared bittersweetly sad inside; he could never get a straight answer out of anyone when he asked what was wrong, but he suspected it was because George's twin brother, Fred, had died in the legendary Battle Of Hogwarts some twenty years prior. There was a moving portrait of him behind the counter, scarcely twenty years of age, snickering at a private joke and waving to the patrons. The surviving brother, meanwhile, was distinctly older, sported a handlebar moustache as red as his hair, and was missing an ear, and therefore a vast majority of the customers did not realise they had been twins. Despite past tragedy, he never came off depressed in the slightest, and warmly greeted his relatives whenever they dropped in, hastening to show off his latest inventions. Albus was sure to buy at least one of each, as well as to stock up on a few old favourites.

Later that evening inside the Leaky Cauldron, the Potters and Weasleys were all seated around several smaller tables that had been bewitched into one long table when more unexpected family members crawled out of the fireplace to join the modest banquet. Grandmum and Granddad Weasley, Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, cousin Victoire, and cousin Teddy Lupin, whom had been raised by his grandmother Andromeda Tonks from a year old. Albus's father always treated him with a special kind of deference, which was understandable due to certain parallels in childhood; neither one could remember their parents, having lost them when very small.

"So the Department Of Mysteries really agrees with you?" Granddad was asking.

"Oh yes," Teddy replied, taking a sip of his butterbeer. "In fact, I'm rather suited to it; some days all I need do is sit around on my bum, and the rest of the lot do all the work."

"Why's that?" Lily asked him.

"Ahh." There was a cryptic gleam playing in his eye as his hair slowly changed from its usual mousy brown to a purplish hue. "Then there'd be no mysteries left in the department, now, would there?"

Lily and Hugo laughed and clapped at the parlour trick; even Albus, who'd seen him do it a thousand times, couldn't help but smile.

As the evening wore on and Grandmum Weasley started asking when Teddy and Victoire were going to set a wedding date, James wanted to pop over to one of his friends' house (he was of age and could Apparate now), and his father reluctantly agreed. This act put the first chink in the integrity of their party, and guest by guest it gradually broke apart. Before they said their goodbyes, Rose pulled him aside.

"Got something to show you real quick," she whispered.

Albus glanced over his shoulder. "What is it, and why are we whispering?"

"Well... only I reckoned you'd want a heads-up before September First." With this, she reached into the pocket of her cloak and withdrew something shiny. Upon closer look, he saw a gleaming letter "P".

"You've been tapped for prefect?" he said excitedly.

"Yeah," she said with a grimace. "And... I'm not really sure why. I mean, my grades are decent, and maybe I do have certain natural leadership qualities" - Albus snorted, and she ignored him - "but I'm in and out of detention like I'm stuck in a revolving door. Maybe they've got good reason for sending on this badge, but I'm dead flummoxed."

"But this is great," he said with a grin. "I mean, you'll have a few annoying chores to do now and again, but at least the other prefects won't be able to get shirty with you."

"I guess. Hey, listen." Her voice dropped even lower. "Don't tell Mum and Dad, okay? They were both prefects in their day, and I don't want them making a fuss."

"Hey, would I disobey a prefect?"

Rose punched him in the shoulder, then hugged him and said, "See you soon."

o o o

After supper a few days later, Albus confided in his mother about the honour Rose had received by owl post. She, of course, beamed at the news.

"Oh, that must be really nice for her! Of course, I was never chosen for prefect and it didn't matter at all to me, but then again, the power seemed to go to your uncle's head a bit, so I suppose it depends. But I'm happy for her."

"Yeah, me too." As he helped her put the dishes away (not being allowed to do it magically yet, he was moving things manually) he sighed, and as per usual, his mother caught it.

"You're not, then?"

"What? No, no, I am."

"Oh, Albie." She reached over to tousle his hair, and he batted her hand away with a mixing spoon. "Disappointed you didn't get the 'P' instead? Eyes green with envy?"

His already-green eyes rolled at one of her overused little jokes. "No no, not 'instead', not... well, I wonder why I _didn't_ get one is all."

"Albus Severus!" Ginny Potter tutted loudly and pulled him into a warm hug; that ever-present flowery scent of hers filled his nostrils, and instantly took the edge off his anxieties - even as he squirmed fruitlessly to escape her grasp. "Son, you know we'll always love you no matter what - and we're right proud of you! High marks in all your classes, reasonably tidy room... haven't killed anyone yet."

Albus sighed again. "Mum..."

"It'll be fine." She pulled back, smiling reassuringly at him as she patted his cheek. "You'll get on that train next week and see that everything's the same; you and Rose will still be cousins, nothing a body can pin on their lapel can change that."

Suddenly ashamed that he had been jealous at all, he muttered, "Cheers, Mum."

"Anytime. Now, why don't you go and work on cleaning out the owl cages?"

"Aw, c'mon, do I-"

"It's your turn, you know that. Go on."

The rest of the week passed in a haze of blandness; nothing important seemed to happen other than the Thomases stopping by for tea one afternoon (which Albus had to miss, because he had trod on his sister's foot accidentally-on-purpose and was grounded to his room for the rest of the night). Finally, it was the end of August, and he was packing his trunk when a light brown wing cuffed him around the head.

"Dobby!" he cried as the beautiful tawny owl fluttered onto his shoulder. "Where've you been? Seems like you're always running off these days."

The owl's head swiveled to look at him, overlarge, greenish eyes boring into his before he hooted and took off toward his cage on top of the dresser for a sip of water. As he hopped inside, his claw brushed the envelope Albus's Hogwarts letter had been in, which fell to the floor with a _clunk!_

Albus had already begun folding another set of Gryffindor robes to pack when what had just happened caught up with him. Parchment envelopes normally did not "clunk" without reason. He paced over and picked it up, feeling something hard and flat in the bottom.

There it was; the gleaming prefect's badge he had been coveting all this time. How had he failed to notice it before? Glowing, he immediately pinned it to his t-shirt, imagining himself bossing around first-years with Rose and using the fabled prefect's bath ( _not_ with Rose) as he studied the effect in his dressing mirror. Then, he laughed, long and hard and joyously, so much that his parents came to see if he'd suddenly gone mad. Of course, even as his dad was congratulating him, his mother held suspicions that Rose had used a Gemino Charm on her badge and sent over the copy for a laugh. Eventually, when everything calmed down, they asked him what he wanted.

"What I... want?"

"Within reason, of course," Harry said with a grin. "That is, I remember your grandparents got Uncle Percy an owl when he was made prefect, and Uncle Ron got a new broom; why break with tradition?"

Albus's heart suddenly bulged with the warmth of endless possibilities. "Well, I don't know, this is... wow... I mean, a new broom could be cool, but seeing as I don't play Quidditch I'd never get a chance to use it, and I already have an owl... new dress robes? No, I got some of those last Christmas. Damn, what do I do?"

As his mother was admonishing him for swearing, he thought saw a scheming look creep into his father's eyes - a look that usually spelled trouble, though it didn't show up there terribly often. Albus was still apologising when Harry said, "Anyway, I'm sure we'll think of a suitable reward. Just don't start calling the first-years 'midgets'."

o o o

The following morning, when Albus had washed and dressed in Muggle attire, he went to close his trunk and found a present lying atop his things; the note on top said, "Congratulations, Albus." In his excitement, Albus nearly shredded the box along with the wrappings, and his shaking hands dumped the contents to the floor - which turned out to be quite puzzling.

The handsome, silvery cloak, made of what appeared to be the finest and smoothest silk, spoke for itself; it obviously cost a fortune, and he supposed it was to be worn with dress robes. However, the other gift needed quite a lot more explanation, as it was only a very old, very worn bit of parchment, spotted and yellowed with age. It had nothing written on, though he turned it over several times hoping a secret message was on the back, but found none; perhaps his parents had meant to write some birthday wishes on it and forgotten. He'd ask them later.

After a while, he shoved the parchment into his trunk and sat admiring the craftsmanship of his new cloak for a minute or two before his mother called up for them to hurry downstairs; then, he folded it up gently and replaced it inside its box, not wanting to harm it in any way.

As the family was loading up the sleek black automobile Dad had borrowed from the Ministry to bring them to King's Cross, his father asked him to help load the trunks into the boot.

"Already opened it, haven't you?" Harry whispered.

"What?" When his father only looked at him meaningfully, Albus breathed, "Oh... yeah."

"Like it?"

"Yeah," he muttered, grinning. "Thanks, thanks loads! That is one truly beautiful cloak; haven't got the chance to try it on yet, but-"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll love it."

"But Dad, I have to ask... what's with the blank parchment?"

His father nodded, obviously pleased that he'd asked. "Mm, yes. That's almost as important, and your mother would flay me alive if she knew I gave it to you, but what its-" He broke off as the rest of the family exited Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place and it shrank into nonbeing behind them. After they finished loading the trunks and pet cages, as they were striding around the car, his father whispered in his ear, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"You're _what?"_

"Memorise those words, Albus: 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good'. Repeat it back, quick now, son!"

Was dear old dad having him on? "'I solemnly swear that... that I-"

"'-am up to no good'," his father finished, nodding again with that same gleam in a startlingly green eye as he opened the driver's door. "Remember it."

_END Chapter Three_


	4. Jezabel Skirrow

Even four years after he had first started at Hogwarts, Albus winced as he passed through the seemingly-solid barrier between platforms nine and ten, and - instead of bloodying his nose - emerged on Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, where the gleaming crimson Hogwarts Express sat, billowing steam and awaiting its passengers with eager anticipation. As he stood admiring it, he felt a sharp pain in the small of his back.

"Ouch!"

"Get a move on, will you, Albie?" Lily grunted, having rammed into the back of him; Dobby was hooting indignantly from atop his trunk. "You're holding everything up!"

Grumbling, he pushed his trolley toward the back of the carriages, looking around for Rose, when a messy, dirty-blonde mop of hair came bobbing toward him. Eventually, when it had drawn closer, he could distinguish a person underneath it.

"Albus," the boy said, caramel complexion glowing in the mist. "How've you been?"

"Not bad, Tranky," he replied. "Heard you and the folks came 'round our place a few days ago."

"We did. You were grounded, weren't you?"

"I was." Albus glanced around. "Seen Rose anywhere?"

"Oh yes. She was headed toward the prefect's carriage. I'm heading there myself in a few moments; I've been tapped for Ravenclaw."

With a start, Albus realised he'd plum forgotten he would not be riding with the other students now he had been given the honourary "P". He laughed and replied, "But I'm going there, too!"

"Oh, how lovely! Well, we've only fifteen minutes - perhaps we should join your cousin."

When they reached the very front of the normal passenger cars, they met Rose coming toward them. Something was different about her, but he couldn't put his finger on it exactly. Nodding in greeting, she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder and said, "I'll say this for them - that car looks a sight better than the rest of the Express."

"All posh, is it?" Albus asked.

"Sickeningly so." Her eyes moved to the face beside his. "All right, Thomas?"

"Of course, of course," he replied. "I'll be joining you two with the other prefects."

"Who two? You..." Rose looked sharply at Albus. "Hang on a tick - why are you up this end of the train?"

Albus suppressed a laugh; her tone was a bit accusatory. "Well, as it turns out, I've been handed the 'P' as well."

"Really?" She frowned at him, still acting somewhat hurt. "But - but why didn't you tell me before?"

"Didn't know." Suddenly feeling quite embarrassed about it now, he lowered his voice and said, "Er, I didn't notice the badge was in with my letter until yesterday."

After a moment of staring at him in disbelief, she laughed, and loudly. "Blimey, Al, maybe they should revoke your prefectship straightaway! Didn't even notice you were one 'til it was almost too late!"

"Oh, shut up," he mumbled, glancing around and hoping nobody else had overheard. "Hey, hang on a second... that's it!"

She blinked. "What?"

Chuckling, he reached over and brushed a lone forelock that had fallen in front of her right eye. "Is there a reason this bit here is yellow?"

Frowning, she swatted his hand away. "Mum did it for me - thought it might lend me a touch of interest. Don't you like it?"

"Sure, if you're looking to join a colony of canaries."

"Perhaps we should be putting our luggage away," Tranky said serenely, cutting off Rose's undoubtedly-scathing retort. "It's nearly time."

When they had stowed their things, the three new prefects hopped off to bid their parents goodbye. The Thomases had always seemed a strange match to Albus; the mother's long, scraggly dirty-blonde hair and protuberant eyes made her come off as ever-so-slightly mad, like she spent all her time reading tabloids or pretending to hear music. Meanwhile, the father's healthy brown skin and cheerful, hearty demeanor was reminiscent of an old friend you'd hail in a pub, laughing and slapping each other on the back. Still, he could not say their son had suffered from this unlikely union in the slightest. On the contrary - the Thomases were so interesting that his mother usually had to remind him not to gawk at the three of them whenever they visited.

Finally, the whistle blew, and they were leaping back onto the train, Albus's mother calling after Lily, "You did pack your Hogsmeade permission form, didn't you?"

"Yes, Mum," Lily sighed for the twelfth time.

Just before he could get on, Albus's father grabbed his shoulder and whispered, "Do you still remember it?"

Feeling vaguely annoyed, he recited, "'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.' Got it."

His father beamed, hugged his son, and said more loudly, "See you in December, then. Stay out of trouble, will you?"

"Tell James that!" he called back as the door shut behind him. He could see his father was laughing, though he couldn't hear it over another whistle as the train began to glide away from the platform. He stood for a while, watching his parents wave to him, Harry's arm around Ginny's shoulders. Before they were out of sight, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see a gleaming "HB" in his line of vision.

"You'd better head on in, Albus - I'm about to give instructions to the other prefects."

It was another of his Weasley relations; he hadn't seen him at all over the Summer, though he had been told this was due to a massive bout of over-studying. "Oh - thanks, Barty."

"By the way, congratulations," he said in a low voice, as if he was afraid the other prefects would think he was showing favouritism toward his cousin. "Of course, with your academic performance, I had a suspicion you might end up with the badge. I shouldn't need explain why I was pleasantly surprised our dear cousin Rose received one as well; love her though I do, her behaviour has always been- well, let's say she has been known to skirt the rules from time to time. Still, perhaps this dose of responsibility will help to curb those nasty tendencies."

"Er, right." As usual, Barty was feeling long-winded; Albus sunk quickly into a seat Rose had been saving for him, very keen to end this conversation. As his eyes roved over the compartment, taking in the velvet hangings and beverage cupboard in the corner, his feeling of mounting excitement experienced a misstep when he spotted the white-blonde head of Scorpius a few seats in front of him; how had a miscreant like him become prefect?

The instructions turned out to be far more boring than Albus had predicted, especially when reeled off by Bartemius Weasley. Several heads began nodding, Rose was snoring loudly, and only Tranky Thomas was actually listening actively, though his expression communicated that he seemed to be idly wondering why Barty was still talking. Eventually, as his bloviation came to a close, he clapped his hands excitedly, which woke everyone with a start.

"So! Let's the lot of you begin patrolling the corridors to head off any early mischief-makers. What say we do things simply - prefects of the same age and house are to partner up. Don't forget, you'll need come back up here when we're about half an hour out of Hogsmeade, as we'll need to organise before helping direct the students from the Express. Off you go, then!"

"Bloody hell, that was awful," Rose grumbled as they passed door after door, glancing in idly to make sure nobody was being hexed. "I knew Barty was a snooze, but I guess I hadn't realised he could be one for so _long._ "

"At least you fell asleep," said Albus. "You missed him gushing about how being made prefect is going to make us better people, and all twenty-four of us will somehow become Minister For Magic because of it."

"Barmy git. It'll serve him right if he never even becomes so much as a maintenance wiz-"

_Bang._

Albus and Rose whirled, wands out, searching out the source of the ungodly racket; now that they had heard the sound of a spell being fired, they could also hear muffled voices. When they saw movement in a window a door behind and on their left, they paced forward and flung it open.

"Give it back, it's Brunhilda's!"

"You have it, I know you do, I felt you take it!"

"You'd better hand it back right now or-"

_"OI!"_

The "oi" had belonged to Rose, who was glowering at the knot of girls standing in the compartment, all of their faces now turned toward them, each equally livid.

"What in Knockturn Alley is going on here?" Albus demanded.

"She took my Remembrall!" a fourth-year with long black hair, prominent chin and a rather wide build shouted. "I was just looking up and down the corridor, hoping to spot the sweet trolley, and she came hurrying past and bumped into me, and it was a gift from my mum, and she took it!"

"Just like old Scurvy to do something like this, too," another fourth-year with short, flaxen hair spat, not bothering to hide her contempt.

"We heard a hex go off," said Rose loudly to cut off their second-year friend's words. "What happened?"

The flaxen-haired girl suddenly came over disdainful. "And who the hell are you, exactly?"

"We're _prefects!"_ Rose boomed, taking the badge out of her pocket and nearly shoving it up the girl's nose. "Now start talking or we'll be off to see the Head Boy about you lot!"

At these words, the three of them had gone deadly silent. They glanced at each other uncomfortably, glanced at Albus and Rose, then glanced back at the lone figure cowering in the rear of the compartment.

Albus had never seen anything more pitiful in his life. As he shoved his way through the other girls and skidded to a halt beside the window, he guessed she had to have been fifteen or sixteen, but all he could see was her hair, arms and feet, as she was curled into a tight ball and sobbing - quietly, as if trying to make sure they couldn't hear. That hair was extraordinarily long, matted and unkempt, and her arms looked rather dirty as well. Her shoes may once have been made of very fine leather, but they were now worn, faded and frayed, and the sole was coming apart from one of them.

"Hey," he said softly, crouching down to try to see part of her face. "What happened here?"

The ringleader cut in, "Like I said, she took-"

"Quiet!" Rose shot at her. "Haven't you done enough?"

Albus stretched a hand toward one of her grubby forearms but the girl jerked away immediately, sobs sounding even more frightened than before. "It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you. What did they do to you?"

Her head raised the barest amount - her matted hair almost completely hid her face, but there was gap enough for him to see a nose that might have been shapely if not for a bump on the bridge. He could also see a trickle of blood coming from one nostril.

"That's it," he barked. "Out, all of you."

The youngest girl finally spoke up. "What? But-"

"Hey, what's this?"

Albus glanced up to see Rose's hand withdrawing from the shiny-haired one's pocket, and in it was a small, clear sphere; the insides held a tinge of fading pink clouds. The girl made a mad clutch at it, but Rose batted her hand away. "Well, will you look at that - nobody's taken Brunhilda's Rememberall after all! And it was already filled with red smoke, which means you probably forgot you had it in your pocket and just accused the nearest person!"

Brunhilda sputtered, her cheeks flushing. "That- that doesn't- she would've done-"

Albus suddenly felt very, very angry. "You lot had better get out of here, or I really will report this to Barty Weasley - who is both our cousin, if you'd like to know."

He could tell the eldest two wanted to say more, but their younger friend seemed to sense imminent danger and dragged them past Rose and into the corridor, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Hey, forget them," Rose soothed, sitting next to her and patting her arm tentatively; she did not resist, but continued sobbing hard as ever. "Those hags can't ever seem to stop leaping to conclusions - they're always gossiping in the Gryffindor common room like old biddies."

"Yeah," Albus continued for her. "Hey, don't cry. Here, look-"

He raised his wand, and her head began shaking warily as he waved it and muttered, " _Episkey!_ " A moment later, her thin, shaking hand raised to her nose and discovered the flow had stopped, though she smeared the trail of blood in the process.

"There, see? We're not-"

A sudden knock at the door. Rose leapt to her feet, threw it open, and shouted, "Oi, we _told_ you overlarge Doxies to-"

"Well, I never!"

It was the witch pushing the sweets trolley. Rose flushed, backed up a step and said, "Oh, I- I'm sorry, we, well, er, that is, thought you, er, were somebody else, and um, yeah."

As the witch patted her bosom, breathing heavily and attempting to regain her composure, Albus said, "While you're here, though... can we get a few Chocolate Frogs?"

Feeling guilty about Rose's outburst, Albus bought a round dozen, and once the witch and her cart had raced off at top speed he sat down, throwing one to Rose.

"Hey, you want one?" The girl remained still, but her crying had quieted; he took this as a good sign and pressed his advantage. "Go on, then, take it, I've got loads."

At long last, she dropped her knees very slowly, allowing her shoes to sink to the floor of the compartment. Though her gaze remained pointed downward, a shaking hand reached out and took the small package he was offering, shredding it open and popping the whole thing into her mouth. As they all ate, Albus noted that she was almost unhealthily thin, and her dirty blue t-shirt did not well match her frayed, green-and-red-striped, Christmassy floor-length skirt. He wasn't sure if she was woefully inexperienced at dressing as a Muggle, or if these clothes had been found in a dustbin. Perhaps both.

He glanced at his cousin, and saw she too had been taking in their rescuee's appearance; the deep sympathy he felt was reflected in her eyes before they returned their attention to chewing.

Finally, Albus couldn't take it anymore. "So... what's your name?"

Her face darted up, and though he still couldn't see her eyes, there were two thin, somewhat-pale lips that parted and mouthed worthlessly for a moment before she swallowed noisily and said in a timid voice, "You're... Albus Potter, aren't you?"

"Er..." He hadn't been expecting her to go from mime to reporter. "Well, yeah. Sorry, have we met?"

"Not really." Her gaze dropped again, and they were back to only being able to see her nose. Albus noted that her velvety, dulcet tones might have been enchanting if she didn't sound so scared and insane. "I- I've seen you around Hogwarts. I'm in my sixth year, we d-don't have any classes together."

"I'm Rose Weasley," Rose piped up, perhaps trying to draw the heat off Albus.

"I know," she said, nodding nervously. "Th-that is, pleasure to meet you. Your brother Hugo's in third year, right?"

Albus found himself confused, and a bit creeped out. Rose asked, "How do you know all that?"

"I... I don't have many friends. When I run out of homework to do, I watch people."

"Watch people... do what?"

Her head raised again, surprised. "Why, anything. Walking, talking, practising Quidditch... I've seen both of you visiting the gamekeeper a lot. He- he was a friend of your father's, wasn't he?"

"Who _are_ you?" Albus repeated, slightly more forcefully than he'd meant to.

"Oh, I- I'm sorry," she whispered hurriedly, drawing her arms more tightly to her body. "How very impolite, I told myself I'd be more polite next time I introduced myself, I apologise, that was rude of me."

The two of them sat for a moment watching her; Rose glanced at Albus, raising her eyebrows, before coughing expectantly.

"Jezabel!" she squeaked. Then, clearing her throat again, she continued more steadily, "I'm Jezabel Skirrow. Sorry."

"Well, Jezabel," Albus said, offering her another Frog, which she took more readily than she had done before, "I'm sorry, too. Why don't we ever see you around?"

"You won't have except in the Great Hall, or between classes - I'm in Slytherin and a different year, you know, when else would you?"

The atmosphere shifted, and it was palpable. Albus had to fight the immediate urge to edge away from her, and Rose, not so successful, did. Here they were, being as friendly as they could manage, and for somebody from the Dark wizard house?

"Oh... oh, you don't like that, though," she whispered, her voice quavering. "You'll be leaving now, won't you? You've f-found out I'm not one of you, and you'll be leaving now. Always the same."

She had interpreted their silence correctly; Albus's thoughts had gone back to patrolling the corridor as a means of escape, and shame flooded through him. There were so many different things he wanted to say, and some of them contradicted each other, but before he could get any of them out the door slid open again. There, glaring down into the compartment, were Scorpius Malfoy and Genevieve Nott.

"Why does this not surprise me?" said Scorpius coldly, eyes moving between the three of them. "Almost Prefect and Long-Stem sitting with the Great Mistake."

"Sorry," said Rose, apparently glad of a ready way to hide her discomfort. "Were we supposed to be sitting with Scor- _piss_ and Gingivitis?"

Both Slytherin prefects looked as if they wanted to draw their wands, but Scorpius forced his face into a pained grimace. "Anyway, you losers are supposed to go back up the front now. Best leave the Mistake to its own devices. Hurry along."

Glaring at him, they both slowly stood to follow; on a whim, Albus tumped his remaining Chocolate Frogs into Jezabel's lap. He'd thought the gesture had met with ill gratitude, but as he crossed the threshold he heard her whisper, "Thank you," and glanced behind him.

His stomach felt as though he'd missed a step. It was only a brief moment, being that Rose had waited to shut the door and did so quickly, but for that one instant their eyes locked; or rather, his two to her one, visible from that angle through her grimy tresses. The first description that came to mind was "fetching", for she had large, dark doe-eyes with thick lashes, and as she noticed him looking, it fluttered nervously. He had just enough time to register her hands twisting up a Chocolate Frog wrapper absentmindedly before the door was closed, and he was being herded along by Rose toward the prefect's car.

"Creepy, isn't she?" Rose whispered, catching the look on Albus's face; her brow was also wrinkled.

"Flighty, too... poor little thing." Checking all nearby doors to make sure they were closed, he whispered, "So, did she seem at all, I don't know... Dark to you?"

"Definitely," Rose breathed in relief. "I was hoping you'd say it first."

He ground to a halt. "That's lovely, except I'm not sure she is."

Her blue eyes blinked several times. "What? But she's in Slytherin, and she's so eerie! Like we were talking to Moaning Myrtle or something!"

"I know, I know, but- I mean, did she strike you as not so much evil as... lonely?"

Rose fidgeted as they reached the door to the prefect's carriage. "Maybe. Still, I'm glad to be shut of her."

Though part of Albus agreed wholeheartedly with Rose, that the encounter was more than a little unsettling, another part couldn't help but think back to how sad and alone she sounded - and to the eye. How could an eye that lovely have been staring at him from between those matted locks and bloody nose? Her face as a whole mustn't be entirely hideous, her nose and lips were pale but reasonably nice, and she sounded like a polite, well-read being - so why did Scorpius, her fellow housemate, refer to her as a "mistake"?

Eventually, the chaos of arriving at Hogsmeade Station pushed Jezabel Skirrow out of Albus's mind as he hurriedly changed into his school robes and got off the train first to help shunt the first-years toward the lake and the other students toward the carriages. As soon as he had disembarked, he heard the one thing other than seeing the sprawling castle itself that at last made him totally sure he was back.

"Firs' years! Firs' years, over this way!"

Without the decorum befitting their newfound status, he and Rose ran over and threw their arms around the humongous moleskin-encased bulk calling to the new students and exclaimed, "Hagrid!"

"Oof! Well, hullo there, you two! How yeh been?"

They pulled back to stare up into his beetle black eyes, barely visible through his wild, greying hair and bushy beard; only the creases at the corners gave away that he was smiling. "All right," said Albus, grinning himself. "You?"

"Oh, can' complain, can' complain. Been itchin' ter start lessons again, got some interestin' creatures in fer us ter study!"

He could see Rose twitch nervously, but all she said was, "That's great, Hagrid!"

"Heard the pair of yeh got made prefects!" he continued proudly, hand the size of a dustbin lid waving over their heads to the students now hopping off the train. "Migh'a known Rose'd get it, both her parents an' all, and o' course Albus bein' a model studen'!"

They both glowed at his praise, but then Barty was shouting angrily at them for abandoning their posts, and they left the half-giant gamekeeper to his job of herding the meek-looking first-years into the boats on the lake.

"Wonder how he's going to kill us this year?" Rose breathed as they moved toward the carriages themselves, having helped most of their younger peers avoid confusion.

"Oh, come on," Albus replied, glancing nervously at the apparently-empty hitch on the front; he knew there were invisible beasts there to pull the carriages, but especially since that fateful Quidditch tryout, he had been even less keen on them. "So the hippogriff concussed you, so what? You shouldn't have been dancing around its wingjoint like an-"

"Yeah, yeah. Just hope we don't end up with a manticore or some other ghastly thing."

"Talking about Care Of Magical Creatures?"

They looked up to see the carriage they were entering wasn't quite empty. "Oh, hey, Tranquilius," Rose said, startled. "Got room for two more?"

"Yes, it's only me in here," he said placidly, scooting over. They hopped in, and while waiting for the carriage to move off, he continued, "You were talking about Magical Creatures, right? Rose said something about a manticore."

"Oh, well, yeah," said Albus nervously. "But I don't think Hagrid would bring one of those in, she was only joking."

"The hell I was," said Rose under her breath.

"I've heard we're doing crups and knarls and clabberts this year," Tranky continued, crossing his legs. "But I'm most excited to start thestrals, my mother tells me lovely stories about them."

Albus gulped. "Th-thestrals?" Again, he glanced at the front of the carriage. "We're going to be studying them?"

"Oh yes," he continued, slightly overlarge eyes turning on him curiously. "They're invisible horses with huge-"

"We know what they are," Rose said hurriedly.

As if the fates were conspiring to make them feel twitchier and twitchier on their first day back at Hogwarts, at that moment a rather mousey boy with an excited expression climbed into their carriage. Quaking at the sight of them, he said, "All right, Albus? Rose?"

"Hello, Elliott," they chorused, resigned to their fate.

They spent the entire ride up the dirt lane and through the enormous statues of winged boars at the gates trying their best to pretend Elliott Creevey was not in their carriage, firing question after question at them, his enthusiasm refusing to deflate when they did not answer. At long last, they reached the steps in front of the castle, where they could flee his interrogation.

"Hope old Sprout's speech doesn't go overlong," Rose muttered as they climbed toward the large oak doors. "I skipped breakfast."

_END Chapter Four_


	5. Castling Within The Castle

But there was no Headmistress Sprout. Heads craned this way and that all around the Great Hall from every House table, searching for her flyaway hair and jovial features, but they were nowhere to be found. Most of the other teachers were already seated at the High Table at the top of the room, except for Hagrid, whom had been ferrying the new students across the lake, and Professor Longbottom, whom was at that moment leading said youngsters through the Hall and toward the High Table, in front of which had been placed a short wooden stool.

"What d'you reckon?" Martin Finnigan, a fellow Gryffindor a year below them, hissed across their table.

Rose shrugged. "Dunno. Has she been sacked?"

"Come off it," Lily gasped, eyes rather wider than usual. "She's a good headmistress, they can't have done... can they?"

Hardly daring believe they could, Albus glanced over at Professor Longbottom's usually cheery face to find it was pale and set, which only served to make the pale scars seem deeper and more shadowy; though he hadn't been in her House, Sprout had been something of a mentor to him in his school days. His movements were also a bit rigid as he placed upon the stool an extremely old, fraying wizard's hat. Within moments, a rip near the brim opened wide, and as it had done the past four years, it began singing.

> "Good eve, you students new and old,  
> And welcome to our school,  
> Where knowledge hums within the walls  
> And magic is its tool.  
> At Hogwarts, you will learn the ways  
> Of wizarding and life,  
> And perhaps some wisdom throughout  
> All the toil and strife.
> 
> You may be thinking, 'what is this?  
> Why is this hat's voice ringing?'  
> The answer's to reveal my lot  
> Through verses I am singing.  
> My duty is to size you up,  
> It always has been so,  
> And place you in the Houses where  
> I think you ought to go.
> 
> Brave Gryffindors up in their tower,  
> Daring, bold, and true;  
> Sharp Ravenclaws across the way,  
> Their clever minds aren't few;  
> Good Hufflepuffs, near to the earth,  
> Display their hearts of gold;  
> And Slytherins, so sly within  
> Their dungeon, dank and cold.
> 
> It is between these four I must  
> Deliberate and choose -  
> But realise, with any House  
> You surely shall not lose.  
> Within each common room you'll find  
> A common understanding,  
> And bonds so strong they'll help you through  
> Even the most demanding.
> 
> Through work and play, you'll spend the day  
> With sister and with brother,  
> Though don't forget, each House should never  
> Disregard another.  
> Alas, with this last part, I find  
> I waste my breath and song -  
> The Houses stay divided, though our  
> Tenure has been long.
> 
> Perhaps remember this when next  
> Opposing groups are meeting,  
> But I digress, and take up time  
> You could spend better eating.  
> My job is not to judge or change  
> The way we treat our kin.  
> This old hat's tune is sung, so  
> Let the Sorting now begin!"

As the Sorting Hat took a bow, the students broke into half-hearted applause, clearly still wondering why the seat at the centre of the staff table remained empty. Albus was on point of leaning across to resume this conversation when he saw Professor Longbottom unfurling the scroll containing the list of first-years about to be Sorted.

"Ashmore, Brian!"

A pudgy boy with light-brown hair that stuck up at the back moved toward the stool, shaking like a leaf as he lowered the hat onto his head. For a moment, nothing happened - then, the rip reopened and shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table next to theirs exploded with cheers as the boy, faint with relief, ran to join his fellows.

And so the Sorting went, and the students became increasingly and noticeably anxious - what were they going to do without a headmaster or headmistress? Albus tried to catch Hagrid's eye when he edged into the room, but he was already deep in conversation wtih Professor Firenze, the Divination teacher. Eventually, when "Zane, Jasper" became a Gryffindor, Professor Longbottom removed the hat and stool and took his usual seat at the table, and the room waited on pins and needles to find out what was going on. Finally, the ancient and tiny Professor Flitwick sprang to his feet - something only noticeable to the students whom had already been taking Charms for a few years and knew how short he really was.

"Welcome to another wonderful year at Hogwarts!" he began excitedly. "Now, normally we would save these announcements until after we've all feasted, but as I'm sure many of you have noticed, we have quite a few new recruits up here among the staff, and a conspicuously empty seat."

Here he paused to allow the students to murmur for a moment while he beamed around at them good-naturedly. Now he'd mentioned it, Albus noticed there were, in fact, two unfamiliar faces among the familiar ones, and a woman with rather long, curly hair was standing in the corner behind them, watching with rapt attention.

"Barty," Albus began slowly, "isn't that-"

"First of all, we should address the absence of Headmistress Sprout. It pains me to inform you that she is currently in St. Mungo's with multiple lacerations and contusions; unfortunately, she was in Greenhouse Four repotting a Flutterby when Peeves the poltergeist chose the wrong moment to sneak up behind her and drop a jar of bubotuber pus atop her head, and she backed directly into a Snargaluff." Several older students groaned. "I am assured that she should make a full recovery; her boils are already looking quite better, and most of the cuts were healed instantly, though she's still slipping in and out of consciousness."

Albus noticed most of the Hufflepuffs were exchanging nervous glances; Sprout had been head of their House before Headmistress McGonagall passed away five years ago. Albus caught Professor Longbottom's eye and saw his mouth was fixed in a frown.

"Therefore, as Deputy Headmaster, I have been asked to step up in rank and take charge until she returns, which I'm sure will be very soon!" And with that, he hopped down and moved into the seat in the middle of the table to, again, unenthusiastic claps, though many Ravenclaws cheered emphatically.

"Poor old girl," Albus heard James's friend Aiden McLaggen whisper several seats down. "Hope Flitwick's up to the job, though."

"I'm sure he will be," a distinguished voice said confidently. Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had drifted over and settled between Lily and Hugo, his elbow partway through the latter's shoulder. Albus noticed Hugo shiver. "As you may remember, Professor Flitwick's enchantments were indispensable in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he's been teaching here since before most of your parents were born. A fine educator."

"-for the new arrivals," the Headmaster was saying. "It goes without saying that my position means it would be wiser to hire a teacher to take classes and stand in as Head of Ravenclaw instead of juggling one too many cauldrons. Therefore, a particularly gifted student of mine has agreed to substitute until I can return my full attentions to the subject of Charms. So, let's give a warm Hogwarts welcome to Professor Weasley!"

"Weasley?" gasped Rose, Lily, James and Hugo at the same time; Barty was beaming, and Albus hissed, "I thought so!"

The curly-haired witch in the corner strode forward, nodding and waving at the cheering Ravenclaw table; then, she winked knowingly toward the Gryffindors, and Albus looked around in time to see Barty returning a wave.

"Your mum's going to be teaching?" Hugo demanded of him. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"She had only just been asked yesterday," said Barty. "Obviously, they haven't even had time to publish a story about Headmistress Sprout in the Daily Prophet yet."

Rose was still aghast. "But- but we saw you on the train! You told us all that pointless garbage and forgot to mention we had a new headmaster!"

He drew himself up importantly. "Well, if you remember that much, you'll appreciate that I had other duties to attend; I am Head Boy, I can't stand around gossiping when there's-"

Headmaster Flitwick was motioning for silence, so they obeyed. "Now, to the other appointments. Some of you may be displeased to learn that, after objections from numerous students and teachers, and a nearly-unanimous vote by the Governors, Professor Nott has been asked to resign as Potions Master." There was an angry murmuring at the Slytherin table; Albus could see Genevieve looked thoroughly depressed. "To that end, we have tempted to our castle someone whose renown in the field of Potions is known throughout the wizarding world. Allow me to introduce the new head of Slytherin House, Professor Dryden!"

The man who stood to hesitant applause gave off every indication of having been a Slytherin, Albus thought. His closely-cropped black hair, piercing dark-blue eyes and large, crooked nose were enough, but he also had a long scar, running across his craggy left cheek from nose to ear. He nodded curtly left, then right, glowering around at them from beneath his heavy brow, then sat and returned to the goblet he'd been drinking from lazily.

"Good luck, Professor!" said Flitwick warmly, though he cleared his throat nervously before continuing. "Also, the staff here at Hogwarts and the Auror Department at the Ministry are rather embarrassed to admit that we simply cannot find Professor Wojcik - his things aren't missing, but he most certainly is. While the Ministry assures us they are now combing countries abroad, education waits for no wizard, and we must reassign his Defence Against The Dark Arts classes. Therefore, please welcome the more-than-capable Professor Peele!"

When Professor Peele rose and gave the clapping students a mild, dignified wave, Albus couldn't help but gape; she had to be the tallest witch he'd ever seen. Of course, she would still be significantly shorter than Hagrid, but she must've been almost seven feet, perhaps because he could see beneath the table that she was wearing high-heeled boots. She wore a sapphire choker and crisp, elaborate royal-blue robes, and her grey hair was piled high in an ornate bun that almost came to a point. She would have come off as very severe if not for the pleasant, composed expression on her sharp features.

"Very well, then," Flitwick called cheerily as the clapping died down. "Now that we've answered those questions, I think we can save the other start-of-term notices for after the feast. Let's eat!"

With a wave of his hand, the plates and tureens in front of them suddenly filled with dishes of all kinds; roast duck, potatoes au gratin, split pea soup, and something Albus didn't recognise but smelled divine. As they ate their way through several courses, they resumed talk of their new teachers.

"This Dryden can't be as bad as Nott was, can he?" Martin managed around a mouthful of bread. "I mean, I still have welts from being struck by curses when I got a question wrong!"

"What about that Professor Peele?" Rose muttered as she pulled a chicken leg onto her plate. "She must get nosebleeds just from getting out of bed in the morning!"

"I prefer to reserve my criticism until I've taken their classes," Catherine Orchard, another of Albus's fellow fifth-years, said soberly from somewhere on his right. "What if they each turn out to be good teachers? I'd feel awful for having said mean things about them!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Rose whispered to Albus. He snorted.

When at last the desserts had vanished, leaving the plates and goblets sparkling clean, Professor Flitwick stood again.

"I'm betting we're all beginning to feel sleepy from too many helpings of treacle tart by now," he said with a titter, "so I'll try to keep these remaining announcements brief. First-years should take heed that magic is prohibited in the hallways between classes, and that the forest is strictly out-of-bounds to all students. Our caretaker, Mr Urran, has amended his exhaustive list of banned objects - again - and this list can be viewed on the bulletin board in the entrance hall, as well as on the door of his office. Quidditch tryouts are to be held the second week of term; you'll need to contact your Head of House or Madam Chang for more information. And, well, I think that's just about the long and short of it, so - off to bed you go!"

"Come on, we've work to do," said Barty smartly as he stood, smoothing out his robes importantly.

"Oh, right," said Rose, clearing her throat. "Oi, first-years, follow us!"

"I keep forgetting we have to do this stuff," Albus whispered. "What else are we supposed to do?"

Rose shrugged as they reached the doors leading back into the entrance hall. "How should I know? I'm as green as you are, mate."

The two newest prefects continued to herd their charges up the marble staircases, through a tapestry, over a vanishing step, and finally to a painting of a fat lady at the end of a long corridor on the seventh floor. The lady looked up, smiled and said, "Password?"

Albus was drawing a blank; he must have been spacing out when Barty told them. He glanced at Rose helplessly, but she was prepared.

"Remember this, you lot," Rose barked at them importantly. "Gillyweed."

The portrait swung forward to reveal a human-sized hole, and they hurried in ahead of the others. Albus tried not to laugh as he watched their curious, awestruck and nervous faces take in the warmth of the Gryffindor common room, its curving walls, roaring fire and squashy old armchairs. Finally, Rose cleared her throat again and addressed them, gesturing at the staircases behind her.

"It's easy enough; girls up this way, boys up that way. Look for the door with your year on. Now go catch a few winks, you'll need it come morning."

"Angling for Head Girl?" Albus asked her in an undertone as the first-years passed them. Her tone came over a bit offended.

"I was trying to do you a favour. Thought you hated public speaking."

"Well, I do, but... oh, nevermind. G'night."

"Night."

When he reached the fourth door up of the boys' tower, Albus stepped into his dormitory, which he never enjoyed doing for a very simple reason.

"Oh, there's Pallid Potter. Had a good Summer?"

Puerilis Logan laughed at the remark like a moron, as he'd expected.

"Good enough, Ryan," said Albus stiffly. "How was yours?"

"Wicked amazing," he sighed, lounging comfortably on his bed, messy, straw-coloured hair falling into his eyes in that careless way Albus hated. "We went summering up in Scandinavia. Lots of interesting things in Scandinavia."

"One of which wasn't you," he muttered.

"What's that, Potter? You wish you ever did anything interesting? That's okay, I'm sure it'll happen for you someday." Logan guffawed again. "I mean, when you outgrow your father's shadow."

Albus gritted his teeth as he unpacked his pyjamas and pulled off his robes.

"Hey, don't look so down," he said in an overly-sympathetic tone. "Not everybody can take down a Dark wizard, there are other claims to fame. Maybe you'll invent a self-stirring cauldron, or a broom that won't let you fall off at Quidditch tryouts."

"Get stuffed, Macmillan."

Both Macmillan and Logan drew back in mock surprise. "Touchy, touchy! What's got you riled? Perhaps all you need is a good Cheering Charm! Better let me cast it, though - I daresay you can't do one particularly well."

"I can cast a Cheering Charm fine and you know it." He paused, his shirt halfway over his head. "Though I think Logan here failed miserably; could only achieve a brief flash of optimism at best."

For the first time since he'd entered the dormitory, Puerilis looked less than amused. "Hey!"

"Leave off Logan," Ryan snapped, sitting up.

"Leave off me, then." And with that, he yanked the curtains around his four-poster bed shut and tried to blank them, but they kept at it.

"Always so defensive, Albus! Can't even take a poke or two; at least your brother's a laugh. No wonder your only friend in the entire castle is related to you."

"What a git," Logan agreed stupidly.

"Are you sure you weren't supposed to be in Hufflepuff? Cos it's not like you're worthless, you just have the motivation of a flobberworm."

"I'm tring to sleep," he growled, though he knew it was futile.

Ryan laughed. "That's it, Potter. Go to sleep like a lump. You'd get top marks in Sleepology if they offered the course. Too bad it can only be a hobby for-"

"Merlin's beard, will you two berks give it a rest?"

Caspian Lewis had finally shown up. Not that Albus was exactly best pals with Caspian, but he at least couldn't stand Macmillan and Logan's incessant bile. Also, he had top marks in most of their classes and was especially gifted at counterjinxes, so he made an easy job of keeping order in the dormitory.

"Sorry, Lewis," Ryan said courteously. "Only having a bit of fun is all."

"Well, have it in the morning when I've slept; I was up at five this morning when my inept uncle blew up some potion of his, and the whole day's been a mess since." One of the other two must have opened their mouth, as he said, "Can it - just go to sleep, will you?"

He could barely see Caspian's shadow move to his bed, wriggle out of his robes and immediately crash. After a few moments, Macmillan and Logan slowly did the same. It seemed like a long time after that the door opened again, and he heard one more person cross to their bunk, undress and climb in; that must've been Wayne Elphinstone. He was perpetually stand-offish, so Albus hadn't been expecting a hello of any sort, but he couldn't help but feel yet lonelier. Why did he have to be stuck in this room with four people that so obviously disliked him?

For a long time, he stared at the canopy above him and thought over all the loops he'd been thrown for over the course of a single day. Hogwarts was breaking in three professors this year. He'd have taken replacement fifth-year Gryffindors over replacement teachers any day. Besides, he'd liked Professor Wojcik; he wasn't brilliant at his subject, and he stuttered rather a lot, but at least he was an agreeable chap whom tended to overlook tardiness. Somehow, he didn't think Peele would be that lax. Barty's mum would, of course, be great to have as a teacher since he already knew her; she could be uppity at times, but mostly she was kind-hearted. As for Dryden - perhaps Catherine had the right idea after all. Martin, too - he couldn't be worse than Nott.

Headmistress Sprout was in the hospital. It was impossible, she'd always been there, buoyant and engaging and so ready to help a troubled student! Sure, James had been at school when McGonagall left the mortal coil, and she'd been one of his father's favourite teachers in his youth, but Albus hadn't known her well personally. From the day he'd come to Hogwarts four years ago, this was the first time any of the staff had been seriously ill or injured - of course, the Defence teachers were consistent only in that nearly every year they quit or got the sack, but it was usually their own fault. He hoped Sprout would be back soon, at least for Professor Longbottom's sake.

His mind still on heads of the school, it drifted toward Albus Dumbledore, and the painting now hanging in the guest room of his house. Was there a painting of Headmistress McGonagall somewhere? Would there be one made of Sprout if she didn't recover? It all seemed to upset his stomach, and the puddings inside did a flip-flop or two. He rolled over and tried to drift off.

But he couldn't. Other things kept popping into his mind: how he'd been chosen as prefect even though he could think of at least two better candidates among his fellow fifth-years; the way those Gryffindors had mistreated that ragged Slytherin girl, and how confused he felt by feeling sorry for her; the part where he felt confused because she was a Slytherin, which was somewhat justified by how every other Slytherin he'd ever met had behaved; whether or not Peeves should be allowed to wreak havok unchecked now he'd nearly snuffed the Headmistress; and, despite his insistences to Rose, a renewed temptation to try for the House Quidditch team. Not that he wanted to be some great sports hero, but perhaps if he could be seen giving back to the House in some way, perhaps by catching that tricky Golden Snitch a few times, people would stop looking down on him as the lesser of the three Potter siblings. James was pretty much the star of the team and one of the most popular kids in the castle, and Lily was known for her near-perfect marks and (though he couldn't imagine why) was considered extremely likeable. That left him looking pitifully average in every way; he felt scarcely better off than a Squib.

An indignant old favourite cropped up again; what was so wrong with being friends with your cousin? Everybody whom liked to pick on him (the list grew ever longer) weeded out this tidbit as if the juiciest, though Albus couldn't figure out why that was. He and Rose squabbled over stupid things, and they didn't always see eye to eye because they were two different people, but they were mates through and through; if it were that horrible, the Wizengamot would have ruled it punishable by law. Did other people get on so poorly with their families that this concept was purely alien to them?

Conceding defeat, he threw back the covers in frustration and crossed to a window, staring out over the moonlit grounds as he poured himself some water from the pitcher on the sill. Light was coming from the window of Hagrid's little cabin by the edge of the Forest; he wished he were down there, too, taking tea and laughing at the gamekeeper's stories. Then, just when he was debating going down to the common room and staring into the fire until he passed out, he heard a muttering;

"No... too many hinkypunks... not enough toothpaste for all of them... I'm a cheeky sugar quill..."

"Damn," he breathed; he'd taken too long to fall asleep, and Wayne was talking in his sleep again. Logan's snores he could handle, but Wayne's babblings were always so bizarre that he found it almost impossible to escape to dreamland. He returned to his four-poster, covered his head with his pillow, and prayed he would find relief soon.

_END Chapter Five_


	6. Peele And Dryden

Sunlight was already streaming through his window when Albus jerked upright. The dormitory was empty. This was both good and bad news; he may not have to deal with his bunkmates, but he was also inarguably late. Dressing at breakneck speed, he was soon flying through the common room, out the portrait hole, and down flight after flight of stairs into the Great Hall, where (he paused to say "thank you" to the enchanted ceiling) most students were still eating breakfast. He noticed Professor Longbottom moving toward them as he slid onto the bench beside Rose, who was wolfing down what looked to be her second helping of eggs and toast.

"Don't make yourself sick," he told her breathlessly as he poured himself some pumpkin juice. "You'll mess up your first day back."

"Blokes in glass houses, Albus," she retorted. "Fancied a bit of a lie-in, did we?"

"Couldn't sleep last night - took me forever to drop off."

"Why? Something you ate?"

"No, nothing like that."

Her brow creased for a moment before her face fell. "Oh Al, they didn't, not again!"

Albus would really rather she didn't make a fuss. "Of course they did."

"But we haven't even been at school twenty-four hours!"

"It's not their fault I continue to exist."

Her mouth opened as if to loose several unkind words about the other boys in Albus's dormitory, but the round face of their Head of House was poking between their shoulders, two slips of parchment in his hand. "Full day ahead... sorry about this, but it is O.W.L. year, after all. See you Monday!" And with that, he left them to peruse their schedules.

"Urgh!" Rose spat as if hers were a frog that had done its business in her hand. "Double History Of Magic this afternoon! And we have to start the day with that Peele woman! Merlin, I hope she's not too oppressive, I don't think I could stand it."

"Charms with Aunt Penelope after that, though," Albus said with a shrug as he speared an out-of-reach kipper on the end of his fork. "That'll be all right."

Rose laughed weakly. "It's going to take me a while to get used to this - 'I'm off to my aunt's class!' That's too weird."

"Bad luck," said a voice behind them; they turned to see Hugo had been looking over their shoulders. "I don't much envy your schedule, sister and cousin - but at least you're not starting Ancient Runes _and_ Arithmancy today, I'm so nervous!"

"Thanks, worm," Rose sighed miserably. "That's loads of help."

"Take heart that term started on a Thursday this year," Albus was saying as they trudged from the Great Hall and up the marble steps. "We've only today and tomorrow before the weekend."

"But did you see tomorrow? Double Potions with the sodding Slytherins is _not_ the best part of waking up."

"Agreed." Peeves was floating along a short distance ahead, cackling and rolling marbles across the floor in the hopes of causing unsuspecting students to trip. They stopped short, waiting for this prank to pass. "Oh well."

"And you're trying to put me off-track," she said shrewdly, eyes narrowing. "I wasn't done with you and those so-called Gryffindors."

A vein began throbbing over his eye, he could feel it. "Oh, leave it, can't you?"

"No!" She quickly ducked her head into the Muggle Studies classroom they were standing beside - evidently there were no classes that morning, as he found himself being chivvied inside.

"Hey!"

"When are you going to stop letting them push you around and stand up for yourself? Twists my knickers to see them rag on you like this!"

"Rose-"

Her blue eyes might have been hit with an Incendio, they were sparking so madly. "Am I gonna have to threaten to mess them up again? Last time they apparently weren't listening, as they're still acting like barmy sons of-"

"Get out of it, Rose! They already think I'm a cream puff as it is without my girl cousin fighting all my battles for me!" Even as he finished the sentence, he could see the mingled hurt and exasperation blooming in her features, so he hurried along toward his point. "Sure, I know you'd mop the floor with them, and that I probably could, too, but... I don't see the point in making a scene. It's more likely to egg them on than put them off, and that's all I need."

"But..." She pulled madly at her hair for a moment, clearly at a loss for how to get him to see reason. "Al, you're a _prefect,_ now! They have to listen to you if they don't want detention!"

Albus rolled his eyes. "Prefects can't give detentions, you prat."

"Dock House points, then! And don't call me a prat, you prat," she added as an afterthought.

"Fine, fine. Can we go? Only I'd prefer not to be late for the first class of the term."

A struggle played itself out in her eyes before she let out a gust and hissed, "You are impossible."

It is perhaps lucky Albus spoke up when he did, as the bell began ringing at the moment the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom door came into view. Breaking into a run (and careful to avoid any lingering marbles), the chimes were still fading when they burst in on the rest of the class, who were seated expectantly and started at the door slamming into the wall.

"Why, hello - decided to join us, have you?" Professor Peele asked mildly, peering at them over a pair of reading glasses she was wearing; a few students laughed. "I'm afraid I'll have to take House points if you're any later than this, so I ask that in the future you try not to cut it so close. Please, sit."

Relieved at their good fortune, they took places behind Wayne and Elizabeth Larkins, digging in their schoolbags for their crisp new books. These were scarcely on their desks when the teacher briskly called roll, then asked for their attention.

"Before we begin," she said, removing her glasses and allowing them to rest on her bosom, suspended by a string of pearls, "it bears mentioning that this will be your most difficult year at Hogwarts yet, and with sound reason. This coming June, you shall all be sitting for your Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations, and it is through these rigorous tests we shall determine just how much you've taken in on the subject of defensive magic. If, come Summer, you find you've achieved at least an 'Exceeds Expectations' in your O.W.L., you may continue on to my N.E.W.T. classes if you so choose. However, even if your chosen career does not require a N.E.W.T. in Defence, I advise you to at least study hard enough to achieve an 'Acceptable'; after all, I'm sure you'd rather not think the past four years of spellwork and essays wasted."

A few students whom had perhaps not been expecting this news whispered frantically to their neighbours. Professor Peele allowed this to continue for a few moments before she tapped the blackboard loudly with her wand, and words began tracing their way across it as the class fell silent.

"My name, as one would hope you haven't forgotten since yesterday, is Peele - yes, as in 'banana' or 'potato'." More of them laughed at that, Albus and Rose included. "And this, of course, is Defence Against The Dark Arts. We shall spend the first week going over what you have studied with Professor Wojcik last year, following which I do believe we shall start work on the Shield Charm."

As the rest of the class was muttering excitedly, Albus already found himself staring absentmindedly out the window; his and Rose's parents had already taught them that bit of magic very early on, as they were keen for their children to be able to protect themselves from simple hexes and such. Still, he did not object to a refresher course on the spell - one could never be too careful.

The class period passed quickly with them practising the Disarming Charm on each other, followed by a brief quizzing on Dark creatures (a quick answer from Albus on the subject of Red Caps earned Gryffindor five points). Soon, yearning for a quick breath of fresh air, they were standing about idly on the sun-soaked lawns near the doors, watching the branches of the trees in the Forbidden Forest bend slightly in the gentle winds.

"But that last Disarming you pulled on Rankin was brilliant," Albus was commending her. "She even lost her balance!"

"Thank you, thank you." A few mock bows to highlight this. "Really, going over this old rubbish sounded tiresome when she told us we'd be doing that, but you know, I think I have got a better feel for Expelliarmus, now. How about you, Al?"

He did not answer - something had caught his eye.

"Er... Al? Did you notice any vast improvement?"

"Sorry, what?"

"'What' is right - as in, what the devil are you gawking at?"

"D'you see that black thing, way over on the other side of the lake?"

She squinted. "Sure... looks like a big slab of rock if you ask me. Why?"

"What's that on top of it?"

For in the shade of trees on the opposite shore of the water in which the giant squid made its home, something - or someone - was making a slight flutter. He'd seen the large mass of black many times before, though he'd never been reckless or curious enough to cross the lake or pick through that edge of the Forest to investigate further, and he and Rose hadn't time before next period. Still squinting at the unexplained disturbance, they turned and headed inside.

Astronomy, the second class of the day, consisted largely of writing down names of moons they didn't care about and, again, being forewarned about the looming danger of their O.W.L.s. They were both grateful when it came time for lunch, but when they made to sit down at their House table, Olivia Wood came striding toward Rose, elbowing Albus discourteously out of the way.

"Good Summer, Weasley? Glad to hear it," she barked, not bothering to wait for a response. "I've spoken to Longbottom, and we've booked tryouts for a week from Sunday, eleven sharp. Now Barrister's left school we'll be needing a third Chaser, and it wouldn't hurt to try for a new Seeker, as well - I'm not sure I can stand watching that Creevey boy drift all over the pitch like dandelion fluff much longer."

"I'll be there!" Rose seemed to want to say this as quickly as possible so as to avoid an outright attack from the zealous Captain.

"Good." Spotting Albus out of the corner of her blazing brown eyes, she turned and fired at him, "You should try out again, Potter; if not for that thestral mishap, you'd have stood a good chance."

"Er, thanks."

As she stalked off to find some other member of the team to accost, Rose raised an eyebrow at him. Before she could start, he grumbled, "Yeah, I know, I ought to bite the bullet and make a fool of myself all over again. Whatever."

"Didn't say a word, Al."

"But you thought it."

She shrugged, plopping onto the bench and starting in on steak-and-kidney pie. "None of my business."

"Don't give me that passive-aggressive crap!"

History Of Magic was no more thrilling than it had been the past four years; Professor Binns, the only ghost who taught a class at Hogwarts, could drone on for hours about names and dates and places, speaking in a manner specifically honed to drain every last drop of interest from the subject and leave the class little better off than a room full of Confunded trolls. Reportedly, the only one whom could resist the coma-inducing lull of his speech was Gwydion Lahey, a Ravenclaw sixth-year widely known as the brightest in the castle. Unfortunately, this knowledge did not avail them in the slightest, and they'd been struggling to maintain average marks in his class from the word go.

At last, they found a respite in Charms, where though Aunt Penelope did not treat them with any manner of favouritism, she was a fair, upbeat and patient teacher. Once more, they were reminded of how O.W.L.s would be the end of them, followed by a review of Cheering Charms; Albus was pleased to see Logan fail dismally to achieve desired results, overreaching and causing poor Elizabeth Larkins to shriek with insuppressible giggles before Aunt Penelope sorted her.

"Well, like Hugo said, at least we're not trying to decipher old, outdated symbols," Albus said happily on their way to supper.

"He's got a good head on his shoulders, my brother." Rose had at least recovered from the charm enough to stop doing cartwheels all the way down the corridor. "I like the little cur."

"I don't know _what_ you two are so happy about!" Elizabeth shouted shrilly at them as she rushed past, her normally-ercu face such a crimson that at first they did not recognise her. "Honestly!"

Being that they'd been sentenced enough homework their first day to gag one of the Hog's Head's proprietor's goats, the two of them were to be seen bent over a table in the common room late into the night, quills scratching away, Rose biting the ends of her hair as she always did when deep in thought. This was lucky in one way, as by the time they'd had enough and repacked their bags, all of the other fifth-years were already asleep, and Albus was able to creep into his dormitory and crawl into bed, avoiding all harassment - though he had to cover his head again to blot out Wayne's mad mutterings.

o o o

Neither of them felt particularly hungry at breakfast on Friday; the prospect of facing both the Slytherins and an unknown teacher on less sleep than they'd have chosen didn't so much inspire hunger as nausea. Finally, when they could stall no longer and still expect to be on time, they shuffled through the entrance hall and descended the steps toward the dungeons where they found a queue outside the door.

"Ready for your favourite subject, Potter?" said Scorpius Malfoy as they reached the back of the queue. "Hope you don't choke like you did last year; almost every class period, too. I seem to recall an incident involving a pig's bladder, a shrivelfig, and Catherine Orchard's favourite-"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Rose spat. "Nobody cares that someone's trained a troll like you to speak like a wizard."

Just as his pale cheeks flushed and his hands curled into fists, they heard footsteps echoing through the hallway; they all turned to see Professor Dryden swooping down upon them, cloak billowing like a living thing and sharp eyes moving among the students. With a flick of his wand, the door crashed open, and he said, "Inside."

They all hastened to obey. Albus noticed even Malfoy and his Slytherin posse seemed to be wary of their new Head of House, not having had time to get used to him yet. They all chose spots around the blackening old tables on which their cauldrons already sat, taking out their books and looking up at their teacher with much trepidation. The other two spots at his and Rose's table had been taken by Wayne and Catherine, both of whom were white as sheets; Catherine had taken the one farthest away from Albus.

"Potions," the Professor began; Albus noted his voice was simultaneously oily and raspy. "The most difficult and arcane of all branches of magic. Unlike incantations, hexes, jinxes, and curses, a potion can be brewed to do exactly what you wish - for whether or not you've made it before does not at all mean it can't be done... if you possess the knowledge and aptitude. Take, for example... the Wolfsbane Potion."

Almost every member of the class started when he rapped the blackboard with his wand, and as his name disappeared, a long, complicated list of ingredients and directions spread across it, stretching right into the corners. He began pacing along between his desk and the board as he resumed speaking.

"Until some thirty years ago, nothing could be done to aid the plight of our poor, fur-bearen witches and wizards. That is, until a startling revelation came upon me."

Albus felt his brow knit. Came upon... him?

"Wolfsbane, also known as monkshood or aconite, had long been beneficial in fending off these creatures of the night. Therefore, I said, why not create a solution that wards off the effects of their transformation from the _inside?_ " His lip curled into a self-satisfied sneer. "Once this thought occurred to me, it was but a matter of endless toil, trial-and-error, and finding willing subjects upon which to test my theory. Eventually-"

"But this is rubbish," Albus heard Macmillan whisper impatiently.

Unfortunately for him (and fortunately for Albus, whom was tickled to see the scene that followed), Professor Dryden's hearing was keen enough to pick up on those words. Stopping dead mid-speech, he turned slowly and glared down at Ryan, his eyes boring holes through him as he spoke in a dangerously quiet tone.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Er... Ryan Macmillan. Sir." He seemed to be adding this last part to endear himself to the Potions Master, a gesture which seemed futile to the rest of the class - also, apparently, to the Potions Master himself.

"Macmillan. Macmillan," he began, saying his surname more loudly the second time, "seems to have information vastly more important than that of your professor. Please, pray tell, enlighten us."

"Well... it's only that, well, history shows us the Wolfsbane Potion was invented by a man named Damocles Belby, sir."

Noting the shivers passing through the other students, Albus was sure he wasn't the only one who felt the temperature instantly drop within the room. Ryan was staring up at their instructor like a deer caught in headlights. Indeed, Professor Dryden's wide nostrils were flared, his square jaw set, and his hand twitched as if to go for his wand. However, when he spoke his voice was oily and deadly as before, betraying no trace of rage.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Macmillan. You will kindly refrain from contradicting your teacher in the future, or else suffer detentions."

Nobody spoke for several long, agonising moments; Albus saw a look of ill-suppressed glee spreading across Scorpius's pale features. He was almost on point of asking the professor a question - any question - to break the tension when he suddenly continued in full stride, as if nothing had deterred him. "The Draught Of Peace is a soothing potion that will often show up during your O.W.L. examinations. I see from Professor Nott's syllabus that you attempted to perform this near the end of your fourth year, but I see no reason not to recover previously-trod soil. Also, I'm not sure I trust the methods of a man who was all but chased from the castle by a lynch mob with flaming torches."

Now Malfoy looked scandalised, and Genevieve let out a muffled sob. Perhaps there was hope for this teacher after all.

Albus was very careful to follow every line of instructions to the letter, hoping against hope that even if he couldn't befriend their new Potions Master, he might at least avoid making an enemy this early on. He therefore sighed with relief when Dryden looked into his cauldron at the end of the lesson and said, "Hmm, adequate; try to count your stirs more precisely next time and you may achieve an 'E'." Alas, when he passed on to Wayne's cauldron he held his nose and said, "What in Salazar Slytherin's name are you concocting, young man?"

Wayne's overlarge ears pinkened. "Er... the Draught of Peace?"

"I'm afraid not," he coughed, fanning the copious black smoke issuing from Wayne's cauldron. "Perhaps 'Draught of Disaster' would be an apt name for this abomination. Incidentally," he added to the class at large as the Slytherins giggled, "we shall be practising the Draught of Disaster in a few weeks, so you may want to take notes."

"That wasn't so bad," said Albus as they ate a leisurely lunch in the Great Hall. "Loads better than Nott had ever done, anyway - I might have actually _learned_ something."

"Loads better, is he?" Rose snapped. "He told me my potion was more likely to cause paranoia than calm the nerves! Plus, he set us a ten-inch essay on the uses of wolfsbane!"

"Well, we know who to thank for that," he said pointedly in the direction of where Macmillan and Logan were sitting with sullen looks on their faces. At his words, they both looked around, glared back, and went back to poking at their peas.

Care Of Magical Creatures, their last class of the day before the meager-yet-blessed free period in their schoolweek, was a mixture of one part fun to two parts mortal peril. While all lessons were ably instructed by Hagrid, whom had a single-minded obsession with all magical creatures great and small, he had a nasty habit of failing to recognise any dangers these beasts might present to frail young students. It was common knowledge that Hagrid was half-giant, and most people attributed his persistent oversights to this; giants were a very violent people by nature, and while Hagrid would never harm a fly, he simply never had to fear for his own safety.

"Crups today, you lot!" he boomed as a few straggling Slytherins came to the back of the crowd. "You'll want ter know all abou' Crups, they're bound ter come up fer O.W.L.s. Got a load of 'em ou' back, let's go an' have a look."

As they rounded the side of Hagrid's hut, a small fenced-in area came into view, and inside this were what looked like about a dozen Jack Russell terriers, trotting back and forth and sniffing at everything. For a moment, Albus wondered why they were bothering with such mundane things when he noticed the tails.

"Righ', now - who can tell us how ter suss a Crup from an ordinary dog?"

Caspian's hand went up, and Hagrid pointed at him. "They have forked tails."

"Good, good, five points ter Gryffindor," Hagrid beamed, walking up to the gate and bending down to pet one of the animals, which backed away warily at the sight of his enormous hand. "Now, any witch or wizard lookin' ter keep a Crup should remove the tail with a Severing Charm when it's a pup, so's Muggles don' notice they're differen', but we got ourselves a pack o' un-Severed ones here since we're more abou' studyin' them than some old non-magical mutt. Now - who can tell me what else is magical abou' 'em?"

"They hate Muggles," Scorpius said at once. "Try to bite any they see."

"Exactly; take five points fer Slytherin. Yep, Crups came abou' when a bunch o' wizards got tergether and decided ter make a beastie that'd help 'em keep Muggles off their property, so they obviously don' get on too well with 'em. There's another magical creature, less violen' one, that can do the same job, but we'll get ter those further along in the term. Righ', then - let's split yeh up, two ter a Crup, then, an' yeh can draw and label their parts."

Most students instantly began trying to get the best Crup first; Atticus Malkin ended up with a black eye after a tussle with Macmillan and Logan, and Wayne got mud all down his front when Timothy Goyle shoved him to the ground. Albus thought this to be ridiculous, as they all looked the same to him. When Hagrid threatened to start docking house points, the class decided to choose their beasts more calmly.

When they were out of earshot with their Crup, Rose hissed, "If these stupid dogs mangle Muggles, why are we flying them in to the school? Shouldn't they be banned?"

"Maybe," Albus replied as he unpacked his copy of _Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them_ , a roll of parchment, quill and ink bottle. "But where are they going to find Muggles to attack at Hogwarts?"

"Al, they- they'd try and chew up the Grangers, wouldn't they?"

He sighed, frowning. She was right; her mother's Muggle parents, his Great-Aunt and -Uncle, would both be in danger if a Crup were nearby, and that made him suddenly lose interest in drawing the innocent-looking beast Rose was struggling with on a leash. In fact, he felt a sick urge to whip out his wand and destroy it before it could harm anyone.

"Why do mental things like this have to be?" Rose was muttering, and he wholeheartedly agreed.

_END Chapter Six_


	7. Seek, And Ye Shall Find

The following week rushed past so quickly Albus was sure he'd been slipped a broken Time-Turner. Other than a nice long tea with Hagrid on Sunday afternoon, during which they tried to avoid eating his appropriately-named rock cakes and laughed about things going on both in and out of school, most of their time outside class seemed to be spent poring over homework or sleeping, neither of which seemed like the spark of life exactly.

All throughout the week, Rose became increasingly nauseating about him trying out for the House team, and it was all she could talk about as they pored over their homework Friday night. Finally, when Albus found himself rewriting the same sentence for the fifth time, he became so frustrated that he snapped his quill in half.

"Would you give it a rest?" he growled, digging in his bag for a spare quill. "How am I supposed to explain why Uric the Oddball was so odd if you keep up a constant flow of 'Seeker' in my ear? It's starting to sound more like 'kill Rose'!"

"But I know you'd do well if you'd just buck up and-"

 _"FINE!"_ he bellowed; several paintings stared down at the two of them in outrage at his volume. "If it'll butter your crumpets, I'll do it, but don't blame me when I get laughed off the pitch - _again!"_

Though he'd known she would start grinning like a cheshire cat, he still found he couldn't look at her and returned to his essay, which he immediately blotted and had to start over anyway.

They spent a good deal of the next day in the library, bent low over their textbooks and scratching away with the end goal of devoting Sunday to their Quidditch dilemma. Their fingertips were very nearly bleeding from overwork by the time they returned to Gryffindor Tower late in the afternoon to stow their schoolthings, hoping for Albus to get in a bit of practise. As they were heading through the castle, Rose's Nimbus Two-Thousand-Twenty-Five over her shoulder, they heard a commotion from a corridor on the fifth floor. Trotting along it, they spotted two Hufflepuff girls arguing ferociously near the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, gesturing and shouting.

"Hey!" Rose said loudly. "What's all this?"

"She's stolen my grandmother's ring!" Upon closer inspection, Albus recognised her as Belvina Hitchens, a notoriously paranoid fourth-year with a rather long nose. "I had it a moment ago, and now it's gone, and it was a birthday present, and she has it, she's taken it!"

Albus put himself solidly between them, lest they suddenly decide to attack. "Who's taken it?"

"Dorika!" she screamed, pointing at the other girl, a third-year with tight golden shoulder-length curls who looked thoroughly bewildered and close to tears. "She's the only one here, isn't she?"

"Calm down, the pair of you," Rose ordered. "The way your arms are windmilling about, the ring might've flown off your finger."

Belvina looked up at her indignantly. "Where would it have gone, then? Why didn't I hear it echo off the floors?"

"Well... maybe it ended up in the swamp," Albus suggested, leading them over to the roped-off puddle of swamp water beneath a window. "That would've made more of a 'plop' than a 'clink', wouldn't it?"

"Go get it back!" she demanded. "Dorika should do it, it's her fault!"

"I'm not putting my hands in that muck!" Dorika squeaked. "I didn't do anything, please, you must believe me!"

"I do," Rose sighed wearily. When Albus raised his eyebrows at her, she told him in a low voice, "Everybody knows Dorika Dunsmore is such a goody-two-shoes she wouldn't so much as look at you wrongly; somehow I don't think she went from that to sneakthief."

"You sure?"

"Bottle her sugary sweetness and you could put Honeydukes out of business."

"What did this ring look like?" he asked Belvina. She considered a moment, still breathing heavily.

"Well, it's goblin silver, and set with a large ruby... kind of shaped like a flower. It's irreplaceable, I mean it, you can't-"

"Oh, this is barking," Rose burst out, raising her wand. "Accio Ring!"

Nothing happened; Albus thought he heard a noise from somewhere deep within the rest of the castle, but that could have been anything.

"She's hidden it already," Belvina insisted. "Make her turn out her pockets, make her-"

"We're not strip-searching her in the middle of the corridor," said Albus flatly. "If she'd had the ring, that Summoning Charm would've brought it out. You must have lost it earlier."

"Come on, don't be a prat, she _has_ to have d-"

"Five points from Hufflepuff!" That closed her mouth in a hurry; Rose stowed her wand and renewed her grip on her broomstick before continuing. "Now, if you're through insulting prefects, why don't you put up some flyers on the bulletin boards and have done with it?"

"B-but- but I-"

_"Go!"_

Jaw set, Belvina whirled and stomped off down the corridor. Dorika hesitated, looking timidly between the two elder students, then hurried after her; before she could flee the scene, however, she bumped into Puerilis Logan, whom, being the sturdier of the two, knocked her to the floor. When all he did was raise his eyebrows at her, as if daring her to complain about it, she scrambled away, sobbing.

"Honestly," Rose breathed as they turned toward the staircase again, "you'd think everybody was waiting for us to become prefects before they started acting up."

Two hours of practise later, Albus felt no better about his chances than he had before, though he noticed he was several times more tired. To his credit, he had performed magnificently, using Rose's Nimbus while she threw a bagful of apples at him from a school broom. He never missed one, though she continued to throw them more and more wildly until night fell around them, forcing them to go inside due to complete loss of visibility.

If he was uneasy going to bed, he felt entirely panicked in the morning. Rose kept trying to stuff toast down his throat, but he could do no more than sip tea and pray the day would soon be over. Then he noticed James crossing the entrance hall and realised he was probably heading for the pitch, and decided they ought to do the same. Taking a last, bracing swig of pumpkin juice and wishing it were something a bit stronger, he slowly stood and exited the Great Hall.

It was an overcast, muggy sort of day; there was no wind to speak of, and at least the sun wouldn't be in his eyes. Squinting, he could see James, Olivia Wood, Macmillan, McLaggen and Creevey were already there, along with maybe a dozen other hopefuls. Finally, they reached the pitch and were immediately hit by a heady wave of chuckling.

"It's Plummeting Potter!" Macmillan laughed with Puerilis Logan; evidently he was trying out, also. "Cheers, good man, we needed a bit of humour during our tryouts!"

"Oi, Albus!" James bellowed, scowling and stomping over to him. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Isn't this where the Gits Asking Stupid Questions Club is meeting?" he shot at him evenly. Macmillan might get under his skin now and then, but his brother he could handle. "If so, I think I'm in the right place."

"D'you think I want to be standing around when you make a laughingstock of both of us again?"

"Well, excuse me for breathing your air." He looked over at Rose. "Forget this, there's no point in-"

"Oh, no you don't," she said through clenched teeth. "I didn't chuck produce at you all night for nothing! You'll try out and you'll have fun doing it if it kills you!"

"You put him up to this, did you, Rose?" James demanded. "Did you somehow forget last year's memorable swan dive, or were you just hoping to catch another with your Omnioculars this time?"

"That's enough!" Olivia called over to them, also silencing the continuing laughter of the rest of the attendees. "For exactly this reason, I've asked the ref to oversee these tryouts, and I'm sorry to say my actions were well placed! You lot sound like infants!"

"Hang on," Aiden McLaggen said, eyes narrowing. "You did _what?"_

It was no bluff; at that moment, Madam Chang came striding onto the field, long, shimmering black hair flying behind her and catching in the twigs of her Comet Three-Eighty. Albus's heart plunged downward into his stomach; he'd always carried a (very, _very_ secret) torch for the school's flying instructor and Quidditch referee, though he knew he was far too young for a woman of her experience and beauty. How was he supposed to perform his best when he knew she'd be watching him?

"What's wrong with you?" Rose muttered in his ear; he decided not to answer her.

"All right, everyone, let's settle down," Madam Chang called briskly, lowering her broom handle-down so it stood in the earth like a walking stick. Idly, he admired the way the sun glinted off her long eyelashes, and how striking her pose was, and mused that someone ought to do a painting. "I'd like these tryouts to move quickly and in an orderly fashion, if you please. Now, Olivia," she said more directly to the Captain, "are you calling for all positions?"

"Just a Chaser and a Seeker," she said at once. "I'm more than satisfied with my beaters, and Rose has never failed me yet."

As Rose's ears went scarlet, Albus noticed Elliott Creevey's droop; he supposed he'd be discouraged if there was talk of replacing him, too.

"If you're sure, then," she said, clearing her throat and addressing the field. "All students wishing to try out for Chaser, form a queue over here; those hoping to become Seeker, over there. Come on, chop chop!"

Though he'd rather not have the object of his private longings there to watch him bumble around on a broom, at the same time he saw the wisdom in Olivia's decision; though they shot him a great many ugly looks, the rest of the team could make not a single snide remark for fear of Madam Chang's wrath. They did, however, feel free to jeer indistinctly when a potential teammate slipped from their broom or fumbled the Quaffle, which the referee was trying her best to ignore.

Overall, they were awful. Martin Finnigan would have made a fair go at it if he hadn't missed an easy shot with the Quaffle, beaning Rose on the head and causing her to chase him around the pitch for nearly a minute before Madam Chang shouted her down. Logan's attempt was nothing short of worthless; half the time he couldn't even fly straight, let alone manage to catch anything. Meanwhile, poor little Belinda Toussant, a second-year with an overabundance of freckles, couldn't find the Snitch to save her life, though this might have been because she was so nervous that her sweaty hands kept sliding off the broom. Finally, when McLaggen had to make a quick swoop to save her from smacking into the ground, she gave up and ran off toward the castle, sobbing.

They had narrowed the candidates for Chaser down to three when they called Albus up - the last contestant for Seeker. Gulping and trying not to look over to where Madam Chang was standing with her arms crossed, gazing evenly at him, he mounted the school's old Nimbus Two-Thousand-One and kicked off into the sky, allowing the feel of the wind in his hair to transport him for a moment before whirling on the spot expectantly. Now he had taken to the air everything was different; the ref was just another spectator, Macmillan's wisecracks were pathetic echoes from another life, and he was absolutely sure he would be perfect.

"All right, here we go!"

The Snitch was up, and he caught it. Then he let it go, Olivia counted to thirty, and he zigged and zagged through the Chasers and Beaters and caught it again. Instantly, he found himself wishing the broom could go faster as he performed dives and corkscrews, jerking at right angles to make spectacular catches, and buzzing so close to James's ear that his brother executed a Sloth Grip Roll in anticipation of being knocked clear off his Firebolt The Third.

Several minutes later, Olivia Wood was pacing up and down, staring at the students who hadn't already left in disgrace. Finally, after a lengthy, tense silence, she said, "Wendelyne Moore!"

Albus took in her unruly flaxen mop and recognised her as Brunhilda's friend from the Express. The girl now looked as if she were about to have a heart attack.

"Welcome to the team."

Squealing, she ran forward and hugged her new Captain, which she evidently did not care for as next moment she was shouting, "Gerroff me, Moore, or I'll box your ears!" Clearing her throat in a dignified manner, she said, "As for a new Seeker... sorry, Elliott."

Creevey nodded sadly, frowning as he slumped against his broom.

"Albus Potter!" He blinked - no way... "What you did up there today was nothing short of miraculous. We'd be lucky to have you."

 _"Yes!"_ It was not he who shouted it, but Rose; she pumped her fist in the air before throwing her arms around him, laughing and pounding him on the back so hard he thought his breath might never come back. "I knew it, I knew you could do it!"

Before he knew it, both he and Wendelyne were being patted on the back and commended warmly by the rest of the team; James's words of congratulations sounded more like something in troll-speak, but he appreciated it all the same.

When he came face-to-face with Ryan, they both squirmed awkwardly. This was something Albus hadn't thought through very well; now he would be forced to play side-by-side with Ryan Macmillan. Was this going to work at all?

Before either could speak, Madam Chang was clapping him on the shoulder, beaming. He didn't know why she kept looking at him like that. Had he really done that well? It was rumoured she'd once played Seeker for the Tutshill Tornados (though he had no idea if this were true) - perhaps she was therefore more fond of players in her old position. Nevertheless, her hand on his shoulder and her almond-shaped eyes on the rest of him only made him begin to feel warm in the face, so with the excuse of needing a drink of water, he started back up toward the castle.

"Practise on Thursday after class, Potter!" Olivia called after him. "Don't forget!"

He'd scarcely had the chance to make his stomach stop fluttering by the time Rose found him at their House table, shoveling shepherd's pie into his mouth.

"Where'd you run off to?" she said as she dropped onto the bench across from him.

"Hungry," he replied shortly. Luckily, she was sufficiently excited for him to accept this load of bilge without question.

"That's right, no breakfast. Well, anyway, hey - you made the team! Bet you wish you hadn't done all that bellyaching now, don't you?"

o o o

A general sense of well-being guided him effortlessly through the next two weeks of the term. How could his life get any better than this? After four years of dreaming about it, Albus was a part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and he was actually getting on well with them - well, with _most_ of them. Ryan Macmillan remained stubbornly flippant with him, making it sound as though James had had something to do with his getting on the team (a fact James categorically denied each and every time, as Albus knew, more because he wanted nothing to do with his brother than in any effort to help him). When that subject dried out, he fell back on his old favourites: Albus's famous father and the big shoes he had to fill, and Rose being his best mate. These things might have had any effect on him if he hadn't been drifting along on Cloud Nine, impervious to all character assassination attempts.

Not only this, but the word seemed to have spread that he was on the team, for the other Gryffindors had stopped ignoring him completely in the hallways and were now at least doing him the courtesy of smiling and nodding in his direction. Add to this the way Professors Longbottom and Hagrid had vigorously congratulated him, and he saw no reason to ever be depressed again.

That isn't to say nothing happened to momentarily distract him from his euphoria. One afternoon he was digging through his trunk, having accidentally broken yet another quill. He had just turned up a few of his spares when he came across the ragged old parchment his father had given him for becoming prefect.

He cast his eyes about warily; the dormitory was empty. Why not? It was a Saturday, most of his homework was done - he could spare a few moments to reexamine it. Not that it looked any different than it had done when he first acquired it, but his father's words came back to him.

"Ahem," he said tentatively. "I swear that I am up to no good." That didn't sound right. He thought hard, then tried again. "I _solemnly_ swear that I am up to no good."

Nothing happened. Maybe he had to hold it the right way, or up to the light, or-

And then, without a visible source, ink was spreading across it; a message. As the words became longer and more plentiful, he read out, "Mr Prongs offers his compliments to Mr Potter for his admirable attitude toward mischief, but he does wonder why he's never learned to use a wand properly."

His eyebrows knitted as he shoved the paper away roughly. Was that it? He'd been given a parchment that insulted him when he said the secret words? That sounded like something he'd expect more from Uncle George than his own father. "Use a wand properly"... what did _that_ mean?

Figuring at this point that anything was worth a shot, he took out his wand and tapped it gently. Nothing happened. Grunting with frustration, he thwacked it hard as he dared, lest he break wand or parchment in the process. At this, another message appeared under the first.

"Mr Wormtail wishes to say 'ouch', due to the rough treatment he has just received."

Before he could even ponder this, a third message jotted itself down beneath the first two.

"Mr Padfoot is curious whether Mr Potter can walk and chew gum at the same time."

It took a good measure of self-control to keep from crumpling up the parchment and throwing it in the fireplace, but he mastered himself; there _must_ be a larger secret here, and as hurtful as the comments were, he thought they might be clues. "Use a wand properly ... walk and chew gum at the same time ..." Then there were the words his father had told him, which he wouldn't have made such a fuss about if they weren't necessary.

After a few moments, he put two and two together (he hoped) and readied another attempt; tapping it with his wand again, he said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Before he even knew what exactly he'd discovered, he could instantly tell he'd found his mark; ink was spreading everywhere, moving into every single inch of parchment and forming intricate, fascinating patterns. Near the top, a stretch of text proclaimed, "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyours of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S MAP".

And it was indeed a map - an exhaustingly-detailed map of Hogwarts and its grounds, showing every floor, every room, every corridor. More even than this, there were miniscule dots moving across it; screwing up his eyes, he saw these were labelled with the names of students and teachers. He scanned it eagerly; he could see old Urran was up the Astronomy tower, and Hagrid moving around by the vegetable patches, and Peeves bobbing along in the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom. Rose's dot was in the Gryffindor common room, which he knew to be true because he had just come from there. Then he found the one labelled "Albus Potter" in the fourth floor of the boys' dormitories, sitting exactly where he was. Giggling quietly in spite of himself, he paced around the room, watching the dot move with him. Then, he heard someone coming up the stairs.

"Shut up, Logan, I'll just be a minute; need my Herbology book. Oh, will you- fine, what is it?"

The steps faded. Heart thudding frantically in his chest, he stared at the map - if there was anyone he didn't want discovering him with this unique artifact, it was Ryan Macmillan - and there he was, moving down the stairs and back into the common room where the dot labelled Puerilis Logan was waiting.

"Uh... turn off now, please." Nothing. He tapped it with his wand and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Again, no reaction. "Nox!" It stood to reason there was a way to wipe it clean if one needed a password to view it in the first place - but how? Inspired by that line of thinking, he pointed his wand at it and whispered, "Scourgify!"

The ink flew from the surface, mingling with magical soap suds as it dribbled down his arm and onto the floor. He smiled in relief for a moment, then gasped; the map was slowly coming back into view as if he'd done nothing at all. Desperately, he shook it and growled, "How the bloody hell do I make you go blank?"

Evidently, this bizarre, enchanted object had been waiting for him to ask, as he saw a small movement near his own dot; his nose an inch from its surface, he could just make out a tiny speech bubble enclosing the words, "Mischief Managed". When he tapped the map and said this, the ink began receding into itself until it was as featureless as the day he'd first seen it.

This was amazing. Now he understood what it did and how to use it, he found himself gazing through a window of endless opportunities. He could surprise people around corners and they'd be dumbfounded as to how he knew they were coming! Never again could Peeves ambush him with blackboard erasers and buckets of water! He would no longer get caught wandering the corridors at night by Urran!

And that's when it truly hit him: that's what the map was for. "Marauding" meant to wander around looking for treasure, didn't it? The map was a treasure in itself! In his hands was the means to avoid ever being caught breaking the rules again - Hogwarts was his to explore!

But another strange thought fell into his head; why did he have it? His parents loved him very much, but they'd always warned him to keep his nose clean - to work hard in class and try not to cause as much mayhem as James. Why then would his father hand him a map he knew would all but guarantee that his son would be "up to no good", as the very incantation suggested?

This mingled excitement and confusion was still bouncing around his mind when the door banged open. Not turning to look as he stowed the map in his suitcase again, he heard Macmillan muttering, "Like I care about his damn Gobstones tourney... how daft do you have to be?"

_END Chapter Seven_


	8. The Meaning Of Pain

The first Monday in October dawned with a slight drizzle, which could be seen through the windows of the Great Hall and in the shade of grey of the clouds writhing around the enchanted ceiling. Rose was pulling a second plate of kippers toward her as Albus continued eating his way through a bowl of porridge when the owls began swooping into the room, delivering the post.

"Ah, excellent!" he heard Tranquilius Thomas exclaim from the next table. "Mum's sent on a nargle talisman - this'll help keep them away when I'm studying."

A few older students gasped when they saw it, and the Head Girl, a somewhat dumpy Ravenclaw named Lucy Corner, immediately grabbed it and raced from the room, Tranky running after her asking politely why she had taken complete leave of her senses.

"What's all this?" Barty demanded of the gathered crowd.

"That may fend off nargles, whatever they are," Gwydion Lahey said, adjusting his square-rimmed spectacles and clutching at his chest. "Unfortunately, it may also have driven us all insane eventually; it was made of a Fwooper larynx."

Everyone was still chattering about this when Albus noticed Dobby had landed in front of him, bearing a rather long package and nipping at his hand expectantly. He rubbed his soft feathers with a forefinger before offering him a bit of toast off his plate.

"What've you got there, Al?" Martin asked, leaning in for a closer look on his elbows.

"Dunno," he said, ripping off the paper hurriedly. "Oh-!"

His father's broom, the weathered, dependable Firebolt, rolled out and onto the table. For a nearly thirty-year-old sanded-down tree branch, he had to admit it still appeared to be in fine shape.

Rose's hand found a spot on the table next to his arm for support. "Blimey..."

"Hmm, not a bad broom, there," Gwydion said from over his shoulder. "Looks familiar, though..."

"Hey, that's James's old Firebolt, isn't it?" Aiden McLaggen said bemusedly. "Wow, can't believe he handed it over, the way you two go at it!"

"That's because it wasn't technically his to give," Rose snorted, crooking her arm around Albus's neck. "It's your dad's old ride from back in his day, isn't it, Al?"

"Yeah," he breathed. Then he noticed there was a note among the wrappings; he grabbed for it and read it through several times quickly.

"Dear Albus,  
Well done making the House team! This broom might not be good enough for your brother anymore, but hopefully you'll find use for it until you can afford a new one of your own. We've always known you had it in you - you just had to realise it, too. Go get that Snitch, son!  
Love, Mum and Dad

P.S.: Don't start any duels with the Slytherins after matches and risk getting yourself kicked off the team - trust us!"

When he'd written to tell his parents about making the team, he had asked if they could scare up the gold for a used Comet or something; he knew after he'd just been given that beautiful silver cloak that they probably wouldn't like the idea of buying him a top-quality broom. This, as far as he was concerned, was better than getting a brand new one; they trusted him with their memories. As he glanced around at the rest of the table, he found he couldn't possibly express how proud he was to be a Potter at that moment - but Rose, for one, had been reading over his shoulder, and if he wasn't mistaken her eyes were a bit mistier than usual.

Then, Ryan Macmillan tutted and said, "Wow, that thing's seen better days. Couldn't you ask your parents to get you a new broom? I mean, you're Seeker, you'll need something with speed - not that antiquated twig."

Rose laughed sycophantically. "Oh, very good, Ryan - you are ever so witty! Now, why don't you go and shove your mouldy Cleansweep Twenty-Two straight up your witty-"

"What's going on?" Olivia Wood said as she reached them; her trained eyes instantly recognised the broomstick. "Oh, you've got James's old model; good, good. It's never once steered him wrong."

That shut Macmillan up.

Meanwhile, the days continued to roll along pleasantly, even if the weather did not reflect this. Albus was getting more than decent marks in all his classes (excepting History Of Magic, perhaps), and Quidditch practise was going quite well, also - especially once he'd acquired the Firebolt, which upped his game considerably. He even convinced Rose to stop saying "I told you so" about him making the team in the face of their mounting workload.

"All right, all right, you don't have to go and get all shirty about it," she griped one Tuesday night as he continued to try to break through her defences and tweak her nose, something he knew she loathed for whatever reason. "But you do owe me something nice... perhaps your firstborne?"

"Duly noted. Now, should we start in on Sinistra's essay or Dryden's?"

Her eyes popped. "Have you gone round the twist?! Dryden's, you git!" she exclaimed, causing a group of second-years to look up in alarm from across the common room. Had he been in a more daring mood he'd have informed her she sounded like Hugo, but he valued his own life more than a brief laugh that might endanger it. "We've got him again tomorrow, and it wouldn't do for him of all people to catch us with our pants down!"

Albus wished very much, for her sake, that Macmillan hadn't been walking by as she said this; alas, he had been and was now chortling loudly.

"Why are you talking about whipping off your knickers? Albus here calling for a private show, or will you be giving us all the pleas-"

Before he knew what was happening, Ryan's arms and legs were flailing, and Rose's fists were raining down on the boy's face and chest again and again as she sat atop his stomach. Albus froze; should he alert Professor Longbottom, put a stop to it - or perhaps it would be best to let this happen? Then again, maybe he should be lending a hand, should have done the instant the scuffle broke out, it would be the loyal thing. Before he could decide on any course of action, however, Ryan's foot sank into the side of his pelvis and his mind suddenly became made up - grabbing, punching and generally scrabbling, Albus pounced on him, landing a blow or two before he heard a voice ring through the common room.

"My word, roughhousing in Gryffindor Tower! Shame on you, I say, whoever do you - _WHAAAAAT?!"_

There was a _BANG,_ and the three of them were thrown from each other; they looked around to see Barty Weasley standing over them, wand held aloft and expression livid.

"Disgraceful! My own cousins, _prefects,_ wrestling around like we've initiated some form of Muggle sport! And you, Macmillan, I thought you had more sense as well! Your parents would be ashamed - _I'm_ ashamed!"

Albus started to explain. "But Barty, Ryan was making Rose sound like a-"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" he piped, straightening his robes unnecessarily. "It's less than you deserve, and I hope you'll think twice before losing your heads again! Behaviour like this could cost you your badges!"

As he stalked away and Albus helped Rose to her feet, Ryan chuckled, "Better not let your cousin find out what you two were talking about. Wouldn't want to bring _more_ shame on your family name... even if it _is_ Weasley."

Fortunately for all of them (except Ryan), Barty was not quite far enough away when he said this, and was too busy shouting at Macmillan and offering to curse him thoroughly to notice Rose straining against Albus's grip, desperately trying to begin their fight anew. Some third-year shrieked when a hex flew over her shoulder, and the whole thing ended with Professors Longbottom and Weasley shouting at them in Longbottom's office, threatening to suspend badges and send the four of them packing. Barty was the only one whom didn't receive a detention, as it was evident from all accounts that he'd been trying to break up the fight to begin with - though his mother kept talking about giving him a good spanking, and Albus thought the mere mention of this in front of other people was punishment enough.

Divination, the second class of the following morning, was held in old classroom eleven on the ground floor. It had been converted into a sort of enchanted indoor wood for the sake of Professor Firenze, who was a centaur and more at home in the forest. Their classes usually consisted of a lot of star-gazing and burning of herbs, though they employed many other methods such as dream interpreting and tea reading (practises which their professor insisted were "abysmally human and ultimately fruitless", but nevertheless taught at the Ministry's insistence - and because there's only so long you can stare at the stars before you've got the hang of it).

It also happened to be the only class he did not share with Rose - her mother had insisted most forcefully that she take anything but Divination, and faced with a choice like that Rose had taken the easiest of the remaining courses: Muggle Studies. Aunt Hermione had nearly been as disappointed with this choice as if she'd chosen Divination after all, but Albus had overheard her telling her husband, "At least she'll learn something _real_ this way."

"Is this making you sleepy?" he asked the others as they breathed in the heady fumes from the sage and mallowsweet ablaze in front of them.

"A bit," Wayne confessed, scratching at his chin. "Still, we're supposed to be seeing something, aren't we?"

"The professor says it doesn't matter if we see anything or not," Elizabeth hissed at them from several feet away. "Remember? Witches and wizards aren't as adept at fire-readings as centaurs."

"That's not entirely true," said Caspian. "Some wizarding folk in the Far East have been known to-"

"Please keep it down," Firenze said in his usual measured tones. "Concentrate."

Albus returned to peering into the flames and hoping he wouldn't damage his eyesight this way, but his mind felt far from the indoor forest and closer to the real one. Professor Longbottom, as their Head of House, had told them they'd be serving their detention in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid - which might not be so bad, but then again if they met the wrong beast in there...

When the bell had rung, he slipped a bit further down the corridor and out into the courtyard, where he found it easy to ignore the light mist falling on his head as he walked along, not paying attention to where he was going. He spotted Rose coming toward him and he stopped short halfway across the grass, near the statue of some unknown wizard in the centre. Before he could greet her, she blurted out, "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"Y'know, about getting you in trouble." Her expression was kind of hard to read. "Ryan's a blighter and he's not worth it, and- and we've been under so much stress, and I couldn't control my temper. Then there's the bit where prefects shouldn't be beating anyone up, and now we both have to do a sodding detention on Sunday night with Macmillan. It's all my fault, Al, and... well, sorry."

He almost laughed. "What are you on about? The pillock had it coming."

"But Barty caught us, and now we-"

"Okay, so maybe you shouldn't have actually gone and done it, but... it's not like I can really blame you, I've been wanting to pound the stuffing out of him for ages."

"And-" Her eyes darted to his fearfully. "Well, you'd said you didn't want a girl defending you, which is a load of macho rubbish, but... but I didn't mean to, y'know, emasculate you or anything."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I don't emasculate myself just by breathing," he gusted, wishing he were simply lying to make her feel better. "It really doesn't matter, don't worry about it."

She shook her head idly, leaning against the statue and staring toward the ground. "The worst part is, I don't really even feel better. Maybe while I was knocking him about - a smidge - but now I just feel stupid."

"Detention has that effect sometimes. Er, just try not to let him rile you so much, we all know what he says about you is bollocks."

"Me? What about _you!?_ " She turned to look at him sideways, and he could see she was almost as angry as if the fight were happening all over again. "The ponce is _always_ having a go at you! You really think I care he was talking about my knickers? He lives in the same room with you - you ought to be mates after four sodding years, and yet he won't stop taking the mickey out of you, and I can't stand it!"

"Oh, Rosie..." He was painfully aware of a few heads a short way away that had turned in their direction when she was shouting, but he didn't care; he grabbed her shoulder and shook it roughly, noticing how tense the muscles were. "Hey, seriously, don't worry about me so much, okay? It's all a load of hot air from a salamander, I can handle it."

Straining against her self-control, she eventually let out a gust and returned to looking resolutely at the grass, muttering things like "bloody git" and "worth twelve of Ryan", which only served to make the colour rise once more in Albus's damp cheeks.

As they ate lunch, he couldn't help but feel the eyes the other Gryffindors on him. Undoubtedly, the story of his and Rose's attack on their classmate was already fodder for the rumour mill, and he even noticed a first-year quicken his pace as he passed them, as if afraid they would pounce without the slightest provocation. Martin Finnigan, meanwhile, agreed that Macmillan had got what was coming to him, and thought the whole affair a great laugh.

Professor Longbottom seemed to be of a different mind, as he was distinctly frosty toward Albus, Rose and Ryan in Herbology that afternoon. He called on them unexpectedly and more often than usual, putting them on the spot and causing them to stammer and answer incorrectly, or else end up covered in a substance that wouldn't come out of their clothes for several washings (which, thankfully, the house-elves took care of). Albus tried to catch his eye, to somehow apologise more earnestly, but the chance never came; he supposed their Head of House didn't think they should be fighting amongst themselves like that and wanted to impress this upon them through the cold shoulder.

They had left the greenhouses and reached the doors to the entrance hall, reeking like nothing they'd ever smelled before, when they noticed a great crowd of people already there, and they weren't moving along. Rose, the taller of the two, stood on tiptoe to see what was going on - then dropped back to her heels, eyes wide as she told him, "A chandelier fell on someone!"

Pushing and shoving, they were able to maneuver their way to the front of the crowd; Albus suspected this was made possible by the pungent odour they were giving off. There, flat on his stomach in the middle of the chamber, was Puerilis Logan, moaning and sobbing as he bled all over the flagstones. The wrought-iron chandelier looked like it had fallen from a great height, the pointed bottom of it stuck right through his calf and cracking the stone beneath.

"Calm down, young man, calm down!"

Professor Peele was already squatting beside him, the tip of her tongue clenched between her teeth as she gently moved the leg about to better assess the damage. After a moment, she withdrew her wand and said, "Mmm, quite a nasty puncture you've got there; lets try... _Accio Dittany!_ "

With a sickening squelch that made Rose's nails dig into his arm, Professor Peele began to pull the chandelier from Logan's leg, leaving a gaping wound that only flowed more freely as she muttered a quiet incantation. Albus was on point of shouting that she was mad when he saw something very small shoot from the door to the dungeons and into her outstretched left hand. Her long fingers unstoppered the tiny bottle and allowed several drops to fall into the wound, and with a flash of greenish smoke something very strange and disgusting happened - the hole had been bad enough to look at, but watching flesh and sinew grow at an alarming rate, filling in the empty space, was just as awful if not worse. Albus felt his stomach turning.

"What the deuce is happening? Lautitia, why has a bottle of Essence of Dittany zoomed from my- Merlin..."

Professor Dryden had made his way through a knot of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, knocking a few of them to the floor, and was now gaping at the student laying in the pool of blood. Logan had stopped crying, but he was still grunting from the lingering pain. Even as they watched, Professor Longbottom came in behind them, wiping his hands on a handkerchief - he stopped at the sight before him.

"What the - how's this happened?"

"Did you see what did this?" Professor Peele asked Logan gently as she helped him to a sitting position; Albus noticed Dryden muttering "Tergeo" and aiming his wand at the blood on the floor, which began to disappear. "Was it a student, or-"

"I don't know," he replied in a shaky voice, squeezing his calf gingerly; the wound might have magically sealed itself, but there was still an ugly-looking scar there, and it seemed a bit raw. "I was j-just walking through to the Great Hall for a bite of supper, and- and it fell on me!"

"You're sure, Logan?" Longbottom followed up swiftly, bending down to examine the chain that had once suspended the chandelier; it looked broken enough to Albus. "Nobody was around, nobody cast a spell to sever this chain?"

He shook his head. "Didn't hear anybody do anything."

"Was there-"

"Neville," said Professor Peele quietly, "this boy should be off to the hospital wing. I've sealed up the wound, but perhaps Madam Pomfrey could do something more...?"

"Yes, right you are," he sighed, mopping his his brow with the filthy rag. "Allow me, it'll be faster if - _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

And Logan gave a shout as he was lifted magically from the ground and began drifting toward the stairs.

"Don't squirm around so much, makes it harder to maintain the spell," Longbottom grunted as he followed the floating boy. "Okay, let's go and get you looked at, come on..."

"Move along," Professor Peele was telling the crowd. "I'm sure he'll be all right, so you needn't continue clogging the entrance hall! Go on, then! Shoo!"

As many students went their various ways, Albus found he no longer desired food; not knowing what else to do, his feet took him into the Great Hall anyway, and he suddenly found himself staring blankly into a pile of chips.

"Al?"

Never having seen something quite that horrifying, he was having a hard time shaking the image. First Headmistress Sprout, now this? Not that the two incidents had anything to do with each other, but... what if they did?

"Earth to Al!"

Apparently, Rose was trying to talk to him; his head snapped up to see her blue orbs boring into his. "Sorry... what's up?"

"What's up? Albus, that Logan dingbat nearly snuffed it just now, and you have to ask?"

He sighed, staring blankly ahead. "I know... strange, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I mean, we're supposed to be safe here, but I guess it doesn't matter where you are; if the Reaper decides today's the day, then there's nothing else for it."

"No, not that - I mean that this is the second attack."

She blinked. "Second? Wait, d'you... you think Peeves did this?"

"Why not? That multicoloured nutter would think it great fun to drop a big old piece of iron on somebody, he's always been that way."

"Hmm..." She chewed the ends of her hair absentmindedly, mulling this over. "It's weird, though - this is so much worse than his usual shenanigans."

"You're forgetting that Sprout's lights are still blinking on and off."

"Okay, fair point, but... why? Why would he suddenly decide to raise the stakes?"

Albus frowned, pouring himself a goblet of pumpkin juice more as an excuse to busy his hands. "Maybe he's bored. I mean, who knows how long he's been a poltergeist, shut up in this same old castle? That lot has to lose its seal of freshness after a century or two."

"Maybe." She shrugged, stretching her arms over her head and yawning the next few words. "I'm sure the teachers will get it all sorted soon enough. Meanwhile, do you want to hop in the bath first or should I? Cos one way or another, we need to scrape off this stench."

"You go," he said. "Age before beauty."

She smirked, then thumped him on the head affectionately before heading for the stairs and the prefects' bathroom. He spent a few more moments sipping at his pumpkin juice distractedly before something occurred to him - a way he could have proven Peeves had or hadn't done it. Taking another quick gulp and wrapping a few chips in a napkin, he made his way slowly up to Gryffindor Tower, taking most of the steps two at a time.

When he reached the dormitory, it was deserted again. In seconds he had crossed to his trunk, thrown it open, and found the Marauder's Map; taking a quick listen at the door for anyone coming up the stairs, he activated it, watching the ink spread from its magical depths and outline Hogwarts and its environs.

There was Peeves, lounging around the North Tower. He knew it was foolish to think he'd learn anything from this, too much time had already passed since the incident - the poltergeist wouldn't even have needed to hurry to get there from the entrance hall in the time it had taken Albus to watch the aftermath of his attack, sip a goblet of pumpkin juice and dash up eight flights of stairs.

But what if he'd had it with him? What if he'd taken it out as soon as he'd seen Logan sprawled beneath that chandelier - would he have seen Peeves hovering over the scene, pleased at his handiwork? Or would he have seen someone else fleeing the scene - another student, perhaps? Or-

A chilling thought occurred to him, one he didn't care for; Professor Peele had already been there. They hardly knew anything about her - what if she were the culprit? But then she wouldn't have been trying quite so hard to mend his leg - she'd have simply said there was nothing she could do, perhaps send him along to the hospital wing only to arrive moments too late. No, it couldn't be her.

However, Professor Dryden seemed just the type. His shock at seeing one of his students lying there, his presumed ignorance of why Peele had Summoned that bottle of medicine, could have all been playacting. What if he thought Logan's potions were so abominable that he had to be disposed of? That didn't make sense, either; much easier and less messy to simply fail the boy.

Unless he found out something he ought not to have. Dryden hadn't liked it when Macmillan had contradicted his claim of inventing the Wolfsbane Potion - what if Logan unearthed something worse? Perhaps that he was not a certified Potions Master, or that he wasn't really Professor Dryden? Much nastier yet, what if he'd already killed someone - several people, and Logan had stumbled upon the bodies, or even just the murder weapon?

Fighting to control his breathing, he ground his racing mind to a halt. Very soon, Rose would have finished bathing and he could take his turn, and as he soaked he could calm down and rationalise these wild theories better - then maybe he and Rose would pick them apart before their Astronomy practical that evening. That thought comforted him as he cleared off the map and tucked it away again, then grabbed some clean clothes and went downstairs to wait for the bathroom to free up.

_END Chapter Eight_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and apparently, you're still with me! Those of you who actually made it here must either like what you're reading, or have literally run out of fictions to read. It's only going to get longer. And longer, and longer, and longer... but I assure you I'm going somewhere with it!
> 
> Danke to dragonballgt88 for the review. This is exactly how I see Al growing up; James would have turned out almost the spitting image of his parents mashed together, but with an older brother like that bossing you around you're bound to be a smidge downtrodden. And, as you might be able to tell, Rose spends too much time with her father :P


	9. Damazein And The Angry One

Albus was disappointed to find his cousin did not think much of his theories when he suggested them later that evening, his hair not yet dry. Rose didn't dismiss them out of hand, but seemed to think each as unlikely as the next.

"But this might not have been an attack at all," she insisted, removing her right sock and sticking it on her hand; if Albus had not seen her do this innumerable times he would have thought it strange. "Hogwarts is like, a thousand years old or something, isn't it? Stuff is bound to fall apart now and again."

"Not as much of Hogwarts is as old as it used to be. It hasn't even been thirty years since half of it was blown sky high by Death Eaters and giants and-"

"Besides," she cut across him, "even a brand new chandelier isn't guaranteed not to fall; things break, Al. Aha!"

Her hand withdrew, a tiny wad of fluff between thumb and forefinger. "Blimey, I hate new socks. You always get these bits of lint that stick between your toes, and no matter how you wiggle them or stamp around, they won't come loose, so you..." She caught the look on his face and rolled her eyes, shoving the sock back onto her foot. "All right, if it'll make you feel better, maybe we should tell Longbottom - he can probably do a better job of checking out a lead than the two of us. Meanwhile, we've got some moons to look at, so I'm gonna go find my telescope."

As he watched her ascend the steps to the girls' dormitories, he privately thought Professor Longbottom would not be particularly thrilled to have the delinquents of Gryffindor Tower burst into his office, claiming to know why Logan's leg was nearly severed. Mentally vetoing this course of action, he decided he might as well go and get his Astronomy equipment, also.

Discouraged but unconvinced, he did not mention his suspicions to her again all through Thursday - though he watched Professor Peele warily that morning in Defence. Rose seemed to be taking full advantage of this as means to keep him distracted by sticking mainly to two subjects: Quidditch and homework. After a while, she became somewhat dull conversation.

Speaking of Quidditch, practise that night went well, save for the announcement that came at the end.

"Everyone, hark this," Olivia was barking as they changed out of their team robes in the locker room. "I've been drawing up a new training strategy, and I don't think three nights a week are going to cut it."

"Aw, come off it, Wood," said James as the others groaned. "Slytherin's so pathetic we're bound to trounce them - why cause ourselves unnecessary suffering?"

"Because it's unnecessary suffering that wins the Cup!" she barked. "I want us to start practising Sunday night as well; I think four nights a week should help do the trick. I'll see you all Saturday, then, and don't be late!"

As his teammates made to leave, he motioned to Rose that they should move forward. After a few moments, Olivia poked her mocha-hued face back out from behind the locker door and said, "Potter, Weasley - something wrong?"

"We won't be able to make the practise on Sunday night," Albus muttered. "Ryan, either."

"Why not?" she demanded. "You got something better to do?"

"No," said Rose. "Detentions. Y'know, from the thing with Macmillan."

Her eyes rolled. "Oh yeah... heard about that. Well, that's all right, just show up if you've got time after your detentions are over."

"'Just show up after your detentions'," Rose mimicked nastily as they headed across the pitch-black lawns and into the castle. "What if we end up scrubbing all the toilets in the castle or something? She'd want us to spend a few hours dodging and passing on top of that, would she?"

"Hey, you know Olivia; any time at all is better spent on training than pointless leisure activities, like eating or breathing."

"Not wrong, there. Speaking of food, think there's any chance of scaring up some grub in the Great Hall before we collapse from exhaustion?"

He shook his head. "Y'know, I think I have some old Fizzing Whizbees at the bottom of my trunk..."

Double Potions with the Slytherins was as uncomfortable as usual, with the added weirdness of Albus following Professor Dryden's every move. Other than being somewhat condescending and gruff, he did nothing to suggest he'd tried to off anyone lately - in fact, the only thing of interest that happened was when he praised Caspian Lewis for his superb Invigoration Draught, which shocked the Slytherins - particularly Timothy Goyle, whom dropped one of his ingredients onto his elbow and had to be taken to the hospital wing amid gales of laughter from the Gryffindors when his forearm reached roughly the size and shape of a Christmas ham - excepting the lavender polka-dots, of course.

As they ploughed their way through yet another mountain of assignments on Saturday, Albus finally cleared his throat and began to revisit the subject of the attacks. He'd scarcely broached the subject when Rose tutted exasperatedly.

"Please, will you leave it, already? Nobody's died! The thing just fell! Maybe I'll drop one on you if you don't shut up about it!"

They studied in silence after that.

It seemed like Sunday and its grim anticipation would stretch on forever, though he found himself equally startled when Mr Urran and Ryan Macmillan found them in the library; it amused Albus to see his left eye was still tinged with green. Beckoning with his free hand, Urran said, "Follow me, now - time for your punishments."

There was nobody quite like the Hogwarts caretaker. His robes were always smeared and stained, and his bald, spotted pate gleamed in the light from the lantern he was holding. Most Muggle-borns within the school had at one time or another expressed the opinion that he may be something called a "row-bot", which was a term he supposed they used to explain why he never betrayed emotion of any sort. Indeed, those first words were all he said to them until they reached Hagrid's hut, and when Hagrid came out to greet them he merely said, "I'll come and get you in a few hours," before turning on heel and heading back up the lawns.

"Righ' then, you three," said Hagrid, grabbing up a large crossbow that had been propped against the side of the hut and nodding at them. A rather large black-and-brown boarhound was gamboling around his legs; he must have recently bought or found this animal, as Albus couldn't remember him having it around before. "As yeh migh' know, we'll be headed inter the Fores'. Yep, a strange job fer yeh, hope yer not faint o' heart."

"What... what d'you mean, Professor?" Ryan asked warily.

"See, there's a... well, a kind o' beast in this fores', very unique," he began delicately. "Been there for almos' thirty years, and usually pretty good 'bout keepin' ter itself. But lately it's been in a righ' state, attackin' an' manglin' some o' the other creatures, and a centaur or two, as well. Had a chat with some chaps down at the Ministry, told me ter use some o' this ter help calm 'im."

What he held up looked like a cheap plastic jug of purplish water to Albus, but he supposed it must be more powerful than that if it were to have any effect.

"So..." Albus could almost feel Rose shaking from where she was standing two feet away, obviously reluctant to ask her question. "Hagrid, what exactly is it you want us to d-do?"

"Help me find 'im!" Hagrid whispered. "'Course, when yeh do, don' try an' approach 'im, or do anything but send up red sparks an' I'll come an' sort 'im ou' fer yeh. Come on, then!"

As they trudged around his patch of healthy (meaning "doghouse-sized") pumpkins and through the first sparse trees, Albus said, "Okay, Hagrid, well... what does this thing look like?"

"Yeh'll know it when yeh see it - big an' kinda blue. Brightes' eyes yeh ever seen."

Ryan grunted impatiently. "But what is it? A werewolf? A- a banshee?"

"Shh!" They all stopped, and there was another snapping noise in the distance. "Righ', then - Rose, yeh can take Tusky here an' head up thataway, he'll keep yeh safe." The corners of his beetle black eyes crinkled as he patted the hound, who panted happily. "Remember ter stay on the path. Albus an' Ryan, why don' yeh try off South there, there's good lads. I'll move righ' into the heart o' the fores'. If we don' see anythin' fer an hour or two, we'll call it a nigh'."

It seemed Ryan couldn't help himself. "Come on, you can't do this, Professor, they'd sack you - you can't send three underage wizards into a shadowy forest without knowing what we're-"

"Shh!" he hissed again. "Don' wan' ter scare 'im off, do we?"

None of them answered him, but trudged resignedly in their assigned directions. Albus and Rose exchanged a fleeting, frightened look before the trees had swallowed them up.

"Oh yes, this is the ticket," Ryan grumbled several minutes later as they picked their way through brambles and branches. "It's how I envisioned my Sunday night; putting myself in danger alongside Prefect Potter. Hope you don't dock points from Gryffindor if I get devoured by the whatever-it-is we're hunting."

"Nah, I'd just open a packet of crisps and enjoy the show," said Albus distractedly, peering around through the trees. It was not yet dusk, but the trees overhead cut off so much of the light that it might as well have been midnight already; not much caring if he "scared him off", he pulled out his wand and whispered, "Lumos!", and the tip flared with a thin beam of white light.

"Good idea," said Ryan - then, almost as if horrified that he'd paid him an undue compliment, he followed up with, "Guess you had to have one someday."

"Why don't you back off for a bit, hmm, Ryan? In case you haven't noticed, we're stumbling through the lion's den, in which the lions are the friendliest of the many, many inhabitants."

"I thrive on the verbal Swivenhodge," he replied, his own wand lit now. "Keeps me on my toes - though some days your head's just not in the game. Also, some days your girlfriend-slash-cousin tries to rearrange my handsome features, which isn't quite as intellectually stimulating."

"So that's all this is to you?" Albus growled, rounding on him. "A game? You don't even care that I'm hoping the bluish mystery beast sucks you up one of its nostrils?"

"Not really," he said, though his brow knitted. "Merlin, you'd think nobody ever gave you a hard time before."

"I have an older sibling who's bigger than me - my life consists entirely of one long insult interrupted by brief periods of other torment."

Ryan laughed. "James does so love to stick it to you; I learned from the best."

"Good on you, then. I'm glad you've got role models like my stupid brother."

"Hey, hang on a minute, there-"

But before Ryan could finish his thought, they heard a noise from up ahead. A shadow was moving between the trees, though as Albus raised his wand for a better look, it disappeared.

"Maybe that's it," Ryan whispered.

"How can we know? We only saw it move, it might have been a bird."

"It might have been a manticore - I'd rather not meet it either way. Can't we just send up the sparks now?"

"No," said Albus firmly, trudging forward. "There's no point in interrupting Hagrid and Rose's searches if we didn't see anything - what if they're only feet from finding this thing and we call them away?"

"Come on, Albie, can you honestly tell me you really _want_ to find it?"

A sigh escaped his lips. "Of course not... but that's what our detention is, and I don't fancy skiving off it and getting kicked out of school."

Macmillan wrestled with this for a moment before shrugging and falling into step quietly. It seemed to him that ten or fifteen minutes had passed in silence before something happened - and "something" here does not mean something good.

"Identify yourself, humans!"

Both boys whirled to face the voice and nearly soiled themselves - a centaur with flowing auburn hair was bearing down on them, strong human arms pulling back her bowstring and drawing a bead on Ryan, hooves pawing at the path. Had she not been a wild-looking half-horse with a sharp object aimed at them, Albus might have thought her quite beautiful.

"Lower your wand!" she barked; Albus had already raised his hands over his head, but Ryan's shaking hand slowly began lowering at her insistence. "Many of my herd are near, and will answer my cry should you attack!"

"M-my name's Albus," he began nervously, hoping this would give Ryan and he time to collect their thoughts should they need to flee. "Albus Potter, and this is Ryan Macmillan. W-we're in here with Hagrid, looking for the, er, the thing."

Her bright, narrowed eyes flickered between the both of them. "I do not understand - what is The Thing?"

"Well, we don't really know what it is," he said, feeling vaguely embarrassed even as he continued to be terrified of being pierced by her arrow. "Big, blue creature? It has these eyes-"

"Ahh," she sighed, lowering the tip of the shaft the barest inch. "You seek the Angry One."

"Th-the Angry One?" Ryan stuttered.

"Hagrid has spoken of it to my people before." Having decided they presented no immediate threat, her tones were now as smooth and flowing as their teacher, Firenze's. "It is a being alien to this wood, and I have heard the others speak of it being of wizard design. We do not approach it, but it has now injured our leader, Magorian, and your Hagrid has agreed to help in pacifying or slaying it."

"He did say he had s-something to calm it down," Ryan chipped in.

"Have you seen it around here?"

"I'm afraid not," she said, picking a thistle from her chestnut body, though her other hand held the arrow and bow in firing position. "I must return to my herd. Your quest is honourable, and I wish you success."

"Wait!" Ryan blurted; if Albus had thought quickly enough, he'd have trod on his foot to shut him up. "You've got a bow, can't you help us kill it?"

Her demeanor changed instantly; the arrow was now pointing at his throat as she cantered toward him, teeth bared. "You dare ask to use me, like a common steed, to do your bidding?"

Now he looked horrified, whimpering, "What? No, I- no, of c-course not, we just-"

"We do not help humans! It is not our responsibility to look after you, to serve you! Our noble and ancient race have concerns far above yours, as has been our way since before the dawn of man! We draw upon the knowledge of the stars, the wisdom of millenia, and you would have us pull your carts, plough your fields?"

They'd offended her, that much was clear. Scraping together what little etiquette he knew, Albus bowed shakily and said, "Please, we beg your deepest pardons, Miss... Miss?"

"I am Damazein, and I am not sure I can pardon such a degradation!"

"Damazein, your people are... are very magnificent," he said, trying anything that sounded good. "We can also tell how... wise you are, because you knew what we were hunting before we did. We only asked because you're so much mightier than two feeble wizards, and we knew you wanted to get rid of the beast, too! We thought perhaps _you_ could use _us,_ not the other way around, and- and we apologise."

Ryan was holding his breath; he had also abased himself, following Albus's lead. A furtive glance upward showed him that while she may have been debating kicking them to death, she also seemed a bit mollified at his shameless flattery. Blinking a few times, she adjusted the leather sack hanging around her shoulders, which he now noticed was not filled with more weapons, but fruits and nuts. "We do not help humans," she repeated at last. "But I shall forget the foolish words of your companion. You may be nearing manhood, but you appear to still be foals, and foals will sometimes... speak out of turn." A secret smile played in the corner of her eye, as if remembering an instance of this within her own tribe. "Farewell, Albus Potter."

"Thank you, Damazein," he said. "And I really am sorry."

She nodded courteously, then turned and galloped off the path, vanishing within seconds between the trees.

"Holy hippogriffs, I thought we were done for," Macmillan breathed, leaning against a gnarled oak.

"You're welcome, you git!" Albus spat, kicking him in the shin. "What'd you have to go and try ordering her around for?!"

" _Ow!_ " Hobbling around on one foot, he hissed, "I'm sorry, okay?! How was I supposed to know she'd take it so personally?"

"Let's just keep going," he said dully, pointing his still-lit wand in the direction they had been heading.

"I'm not terribly used to wandering around a forest full of centaurs and Angry Ones and- and-"

They were both frozen to the spot and staring at a ghostly-white figure, a pair of sunken eyes wide as saucers staring through a curtain of scraggly hair. The mouth stretched wide and let out a piercing wail as two thin hands raised, palms facing them. The boys screamed in unison.

_"BANSHEE!!!"_

They did not stop running for several minutes, even though the hasty looks they cast over their backs showed the creature had not followed them. Clutching a stitch in his side, Albus finally decided they were safe and collapsed against a tree.

"What are you doing?" Ryan demanded. "We have to get out of here, that wretched thing is coming for us!"

"Malarkey," Albus spat, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "You don't see it anywhere, do you?"

"Maybe it's invisible! Can banshees turn invisible?"

"For pity's sake, I don't-"

And then they saw the red sparks glittering above the trees a good ways North of them; sparing Macmillan a brief, worried glance, he took off again, all pain and fatigue forgotten in the face of Rose or Hagrid being in trouble. Trunk after trunk flashed past as he sprinted down the path, glancing up once in a while for the sparkling flare that had marked the location of the - attack? Successful capture? Then, all at once, he broke through into a clearing where the most frighteningly whimsical sight greeted his eyes.

Hagrid had his pink umbrella in one hand, pointed in front of him like a sword, and his crossbow in the other. Rose was a short way away, her wand hand trembling, the other clutching Tusky's leash. The dog, for its part, was growling and barking, straining to bite the monstrosity they were facing.

"Don' try an' attack, boys," said Hagrid softly, noticing they had arrived. "A Stunner or an Impediment Jinx'd jus' bounce off its fenders!"

"Fenders?" asked Ryan, not having had a clear view of their prey. "What-"

And then he saw it, too - a heavily-scratched, turquoise automobile, headlights ablaze in the near-darkness, horn blaring at them warningly. Both side-mirrors had snapped off, there were rust spots here and there, the windscreen wipers were waving to and fro threateningly, and greyish smoke was pouring from under the bonnet.

Albus gulped. "Er, Hagrid? H-how are we-"

Before he could get any further than that, the car attacked, and Hagrid dropped his weapons and moved deftly in front of its target, which appeared to have been Tusky. Raising both arms wide, he caught it, and lay on the ground with the car atop him, grunting and struggling.

"Help me out, here, will yeh?!"

"How?!" Ryan shouted. "What are we supposed to do?!"

"Grab the can, over there!"

Albus looked to where Hagrid had left the crossbow and umbrella and saw the jug of violet fluid nearby. Wasting no time while the gamekeeper had a few tonnes of metal trying to squish him, he caught it up and brought it as near to the struggle as he dared.

"What now?" Rose shouted, keeping a tight hold on Tusky's leash as she also drew closer, face pale and set.

"Somebody open the bonnet, quick now! Use an Unlocking Charm!"

Surprisingly, it was Ryan who first raised his wand and shouted, "Alohomora!" The bonnet sprang open, a fresh cloud of steam and smoke billowing up and into the night sky. Apparently the car didn't like this, and let out a fresh spate of honks as its tires spun without purchase in the air.

"There's a cap marked 'radiator fluid' - pour the ruddy potion in tha'!"

Albus glanced at the other two, said "Cover me," and moved forward. After a moment, he found the cap Hagrid had been referring to, but when he reached to unscrew it, the mad machine gave a violent lurch.

"Try again, don' give up tha' easy, Albus!" Hagrid bellowed, renewing his grip on the undercarriage.

"But it's so hot, and I can't get a good grip!" Gritting his teeth, he grabbed for it and caught it, hanging on for dear life as he slowly worked it free. Finally, spilling nearly a third of it, he poured the concoction inside; within a minute the car's lurchings and horn blasts calmed, and eventually the engine was purring warmly, docile as some overlarge metal kitten.

"Whew!" Hagrid gusted, setting the car back on the ground; it sat there idling innocently as he pushed himself to his feet. "Do believe tha' did the trick, eh? Arthur told me he put a wee bit o' some Draught O' Peace in with the fluid, guess tha's why it worked so fast."

Rose cleared her throat. "Wh-what- why is- what's it-"

"It's an old Ford Anglia, Rose," he grunted, shutting the bonnet with one of his large hands. "Been here ever since yer dad flew it ter school in his second year, don' yeh know - I'm surprised he never told yeh the story!"

"No!" she breathed, eyebrows shooting up under her fringe. "That really happened?! Blimey, I never thought that story could possibly be- I mean, it's barking, how could he have done-"

"Yer parents did a lot o' funny things back in their Hogwarts days," Hagrid laughed, watching the wild car trundle away into the darkness, headed for the deepest parts of the forest. "Anyway, let's get back ter the cabin; dunno 'bout you lot, but I fancy a cuppa after tha'..."

As they made their way back through the slowly-thinning trees, Macmillan suddenly said, "Oh, now I get it..."

Rose started, seemingly having forgotten he was there. "Get what?"

"'The Angry One'." He let out a weak chuckle. "Anglia. Damazein must've misheard."

"Damazein?" Hagrid asked him sharply. "Yeh didn' run inter _centaurs_ in there?!"

Albus had a feeling their tea might not be a short one...

_END Chapter Nine_


	10. On The Other Puddifoot

Somehow, with no help from Albus and Rose, the grand tale of their detention in the Forbidden Forest had circulated throughout the school by lunchtime the following day. He had a sneaking suspicion this was Ryan Macmillan's doing, being that most of the snippets of story he heard painted Ryan in the light of conquering hero - though when they caught him in the courtyard between classes, regaling a group of second-years with his deeds of daring do that somehow involved an enchanted dagger and a phial of Re'em blood, he reverted to the true account.

"Just having a bit of fun," he muttered.

The Saturday after they narrowly escaped death by way of the strangest automobile accident in history was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Though he'd been many times before, Albus found himself excited; their raid on his Fizzing Whizbees had depleted his store of sweets, and he thought he might buy Rose a pair of socks from Gladrags for laughs. Meanwhile, Lily was beside herself.

"Oh, I can't wait to get out and about on my own!" she gasped animatedly at anyone who would listen - mostly her friend Kayla Sylvanus, whom was almost equally enthused. "Of course, we've been to Hogsmeade before with Mum and Dad, but this- this is _freedom!"_

"I'd like to be free of her incessant prattling," Hugo confided in Albus, who tried not to grin where his sister could see him. "She won't shut up about it! Myself, I'm only truly interested in seeing the Shrieking Shack up close. Unfortunately, Father won't let us anywhere near it, he says it has 'bad mojo', whatever that means."

A heady wind buffeted them as they queued up at the gates, Mr Urran standing there with his checklist of those students allowed into town. Albus spotted Jasper Zane a few students along, ducking next to a particularly large Ravenclaw sixth-year. He asked Rose to save his spot, then strode forward to his shoulder, whispering, "Give it up, Zane - who do you think you're fooling?"

The boy gasped, brown eyes locking with Albus's green ones, then scurried off toward the castle.

"That was mean," Rose admonished. "Gave the poor kid a right start."

"Hey, what if Urran gave him a detention? I just figured, as a prefect, it was my duty to save him from himself."

She shrugged. "I suppose. Seriously, were we dumber than trolls when we were ickle firsties?"

Their first stop was Honeydukes, a treasure trove of all things abominably sweet - and even things that weren't, like blood-flavoured lollipops (one of which Rose tried to shove into his mouth). He'd emptied his schoolbag in anticipation of bringing a full load back to his dormitory, but forced himself to only fill it up a third of the way with things like Chocoballs and Licorice Wands. There were other stores to visit, and he didn't want to run out of room.

As per usual, the Hogsmeade branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was packed with students, buying Fanged Frisbees and love potions, or else looking at them and wondering how they were going to get them past Mr Urran. Among these was his sister Lily, whom he wasn't sure he liked hearing talk about love potions at all. Tranky Thomas could be seen near the back of the shop, holding up a Muggle "magic wand" with passing interest. Albus, for his part, bought a new pack of Exploding Snap cards, a Wall-Flower and a Decoy Detonator, and was picking up one of their Vanishing Hats to examine it more closely when he saw movement through the shop window.

"I think my Extendable Ears need replacing," said Rose, scrutinising a clear bag full of flesh-coloured string. "Should I splurge on- hey!"

"Rose," he hissed, pulling her to the glass and pointing. "What are they up to?"

Scorpius Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins were smirking and chuckling, their heads close together just across from the joke shop. One of them gesticulated wildly - Genevieve, perhaps? After a few moments, they clutched their cloaks more tightly around their necks and set off up the High Street.

"Let's follow them," he whispered.

"What, why?"

"Come on!"

Dropping the bag of Extendable Ears atop a stack of Skiving Snackboxes, she sighed and followed him out into the windswept street. He could just see Chester Pucey disappearing around Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

"They're not far ahead, we can-"

"Hold up, will you?" she hissed. Almost already regretting it, she said, "Fine, but if we're headed straight into the loony bin, we might try not to get caught - just hope this works right, never tried it before..."

"W-wait a second, what are-"

Her wand connected painfully with his crown, and he fought the urge to cry out. A creepy sensation, like cold, thick liquid, ran down from his head and into every part of him. Confused, he whirled to demand Rose explain herself, but found he couldn't - she had disappeared.

"Rose?" he called, panicking. "Rose!"

"Shut up, I'm right here, genius," the open air hissed. "I did a Disillusionment Charm on us. Hang on, I can still see your feet, let me try it again..."

"A- a what?" As she smacked him again, he glanced down at himself to receive a shock - the surface of his cloak had decided to mimic the street and shops behind him, as if a rather dim painter had mistaken him for a stretch of canvas and began capturing the scenery. "I-"

"You did want to follow the dodgy brick road, didn't you?"

Scrutinizing the air very carefully, he could just make out movement in front of him, though had he not been searching for it he'd never have spotted this. Rubbing what he knew would grow into a lump, he hastened to catch up to her. They rounded the corner to find Malfoy and his lackeys peering into the window of a quaint little tea shop a few doors along Albus had never seen before, snickering and pointing through the glass as if they were watching a real show; he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't like what he saw nearly as much as they did.

Clutching wildly at the air for a few seconds, he came into contact with the back of Rose's robes - or so he thought.

_"Ow!"_

He made note to apologise for pulling her hair later, watching in horrified silence as Malfoy looked up sharply, cold grey eyes sweeping the street for the source of the noise. After a moment, he seemed to decide it was nothing, for he returned to watching the spectacular treat in front of him. Feeling his way across her back to her upper arm, Albus slowly guided Rose closer to the shop, barely able to catch her sighing resignedly.

"...would do it," Malfoy was saying when they got close enough to hear. "Doesn't have anything to lose, does she? Can't help but take it at face value like the pathetic little besom she is."

"You don't know what it's like, having to hear Scurvy cry like a newborn in the bathroom," Genevieve Nott spat with supreme distaste. "Like listening to Myrtle. Sometimes I feel like bursting into her cubicle, shoving her in and flushing the toilet, hoping it'll suck her down and stop all the noise."

"This is better than that, though, isn't it? Stroke of brilliance, if I do say so myself."

"I'm bored," Atticus Malkin whinged, glowering at the others as he leaned against the wall. "Can't we crack on to the Hog's Head or somewhere? I'd even take my Runes homework over this - there's only so long you can watch desperation like that before it gets old."

Scorpius frowned at him, but said, "Whatever. Wish I had my mother's camera, though, love to have a photograph of this..."

Praying that his instincts were completely off, Albus edged over enough to be able to see what they were seeing, and his blood ran hot.

Jezabel Skirrow was sitting alone in the window of the tea shop, staring down at her hands. That is, he thought she was - he couldn't see her eyes, but her face was generally pointed in that direction. A bit of parchment was next to her, and a teacup gently steamed in the middle of the table, though it looked as if she hadn't touched it at all. Perhaps it was because she was alone, or perhaps because her jumper was the most putrid shade of olive green Albus had ever laid eyes on, but either way the other patrons he could see from his vantage point were casting her furtive glances, as if worried she might explode or otherwise upset their pleasant afternoon.

This was too far. Unless Albus was missing some vital information, she hadn't done anything to them, and there they were taking pleasure in her obvious misery. Something had to be done, and he wasn't going to stand around waiting for it to happen. Seized by a dark shot of inspiration, Albus reached into his Disillusioned bag and felt around for a specific candy; he knew roughly how big it should be, that it should be the smallest. Fingers closing on it at last, he tore the wrapper open, walked up directly behind Malfoy and popped three or four into his mouth.

The Pepper Imps did their job immediately - a large plume of flame shot from his invisible lips and set the boy's white-blonde hair ablaze.

 _"AAAGH!"_ he screamed, running around and desperately patting at his head; Albus jumped back and out of the way, watching as his heart filled with wicked glee. "Help me, help, I've caught fire, help!"

"Scorpy!" Genevieve screamed, rushing to his side and dancing about uselessly. "What- what happened? Oh, someone help, please!"

_"AAAGH!"_

The Slytherins took off for the High Street, Malfoy leaving a trail of acrid smoke hanging in the air as they sped around the corner and out of sight.

"Are you off your nut?" Rose hissed at him over his laughter, rapping both he and herself on the heads with her wand to bring them back into view; he dimly noticed the sensation was quite a bit warmer the second time. "You're lucky nobody else saw what really happened, we could've got in trouble!"

"Oh, give over, Rosie, that toerag totally deserved it! Did you see his face?"

After a few moments, she started laughing as well, and they both broke down in gales against the brick edifice, clutching their sides as they sank to the ground. It seemed like a good long while had passed before he gusted, "Well, that was well worth coming into the village."

"Definitely!" she choked with a nod, wiping at her eyes. "Er, I mean, I still think it was rash, but hey - who else would you light on fire?"

"Had to be done. I'm not sure what's going on, but they were picking on that weird Slytherin girl again and I couldn't just sit there and let them enjoy it."

"Yeah..." She nodded, sobering. "Blimey, did she look bleak in there."

"Lucky you could hide us properly or we'd have never found out as much as we did. Speaking of which," he said as he turned to her, "when did you come over all swotty? That's no novice magic you pulled back there!"

"Oh, well, y'know," she said evasively, cheeks flushing. "Sometimes I watch and learn, and... anyway," she coughed, "let's get out of here, I fancy a butterbeer after-"

"Wait, we-" He stared at her in disbelief. "We've got to go in, don't we?"

"In what? You mean-" It was not a pleasant thought, but he thought she needn't look so horrified. "You mean into the café? With- with that girl?"

Albus's shoulders sagged. "We kind of have to. Somebody has to tell her they're toying with her... and I guess that's up to us."

"But she's so- so-" She squirmed for a moment. "You're right, Al - what they were doing... it's awful, but- but I just-"

"What?"

"Al, don't you see what kind of place this is?" she whispered, pointing up at the sign hanging above the door. He could see it read "Madame Puddifoot's" in letters of lilac above a picture of a teacup, but this told him nothing. "It's a cozy little spot for young couples to make a disgusting spectacle of themselves. Maybe if you go in by yourself-"

"Rose!"

"-then you won't draw so much attention," she finished determinedly. "Three people sitting at a table for two? Kind of strange, isn't it? Makes them look like... swingers or something. And hey, if you can get her to come to the Three Broomsticks, I'll meet you there, honestly. But..."

He sighed impatiently, annoyed at the way she wasn't meeting his eyes. "What? For Peverell's sake, Rose, what?"

"Well, I just feel weird about walking into a place like that with- y'know... with you."

There it was, the real reason. James's ribbing, all the rumours, she gladly suffered those - but two cousins of opposite gender, walking into a supposedly romantic setting like that tea shop together, would throw more petrol on the fire than she cared to endure. He hoped he was wrong, but one look at her face told him his hopes were in vain.

"Wow, I'm sorry, I... wow."

Her eyes rolled toward the sky. "C'mon, don't be cross with me."

"I'm not cross, really - I wasn't thinking. You're right, that'd look more than a little wrong."

She bit her lip, watching him carefully for a moment. With a twitch, she said, "Hey, Al, it's- maybe I-"

"You go ahead." He scrambled to his feet, wanting to get on with it. "Have a drink in the pub, or maybe hit up Dervish and Banges first. I'll catch you up later."

They stood there between a cottage and Madame Puddifoot's for what felt like an eternity before Rose turned and headed back toward the High Street, the wind whipping her hair around. As he watched her go and prepared to turn into the tea shop, he couldn't help but feel like they were going to forever leave a piece of themselves lying in the gutter. For the first time he could remember, his cousin being a girl interfered with their friendship in a very real, significant way. Finally, almost purely as an excuse to stop thinking about what it might mean, he headed inside.

The place was almost offensive with lace; if he hadn't already known it was a spot in which to hold hands and whisper sweet nothings, there was no escaping it once inside. Ignoring the flickering red candles and the quiet violin music, he made for the long, unwashed mane near the window, but hesitated when he got closer. Should he tap her on the shoulder? Should he say "hello" first? How do you greet somebody who you're about to let down easy, especially when you don't even know what you're letting them down from?

Eventually, he settled on walking around to the other seat. When she didn't look up, he softly said, "Excuse me..."

Her head jerked up. "Wh-what?"

"Er... is this seat taken?"

"Oh..." What little he could see of her face through the hair (how did she get it to _do_ that?) began to pinken. "Albus Potter, it's you, it- you're here."

"Yeah. Can- can I sit?"

She started, shaking hands nearly knocking over the teacup in her haste to pull it toward her. "Oh, of course, by all means, please do, yes!"

"Thanks." If he didn't feel so bad about the whole situation, he might have laughed at her overeager response. "Er... what's that you have there?"

Her head tilted to the side for a moment, then glanced down at the slip of parchment and back to him. "This... you don't know what it is?"

"Eh?" He blinked rapidly. "Sorry... should I?"

"Oh." Her head bowed again, hands returning to her lap. "No, it's okay."

They sat like that for a long moment, the mediocre violin filling their ears in the near-silence. Albus had a feeling he'd said quite the wrong thing, but without any frame of reference... "Listen," he began at last, "did... did somebody give that to you?" She nodded. "A Slytherin, or that is, another Slytherin? Maybe Malfoy?"

"B-but you said you didn't know what it was."

"Well, no, but..." The knots in his stomach constricted further. "Your name is... Jezabel, right?" Another nod. "Thing is, I don't- oh, it's so bloody horrible, I can't..."

Neither of them spoke for another ridiculous moment; her expression was unreadable, being that he could only really see her nose. Finally, she said, "It was a ruse."

"Yeah," he gusted. "Whatever the note said, I'm guessing it's not true. Only-"

"Thank you," she said politely, pushing her teacup away. "Truly... it's good of you to tell me, and- and I do believe I'll be going, now."

"Hey, it- you don't have to run off or-"

"It's okay." Digging in her pockets, she bunged a Sickle onto the table, nearly dropping it into her tea. "This sort of thing, I'm used to it, happens so often. Even this time, I thought it might be, knew it must be, but I... anyway, doesn't matter now. G-goodbye."

Albus could tell she was shaking as she walked through the tables and out the door. Then he saw she'd left the parchment on the table. It was a rather sticky choice - did he dare? Perhaps he shouldn't, it wasn't his to read. Erring on the side of shameless curiosity, he snatched it up and read quickly, as it didn't exactly take long:

"Please meet us in the coffee shop in Hogsmeade, we'll have a great time. Albus Potter."

He had been mistaken - _this_ was too far. Debating over his next course of action for the barest moment, he pocketed the note and ran after her.

"Jezabel!" he called, darting out of the side street and just spotting her down another, watching her mad hair being blown all around as he hurried to overtake her. She did stop, but refused to turn around. "Come on, you- really, you have to listen!"

"G-go away!" Then she whirled, hands over her face. "My God, I- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that, you don't-"

"Who cares!" He braced his hands against his knees, trying to catch his breath quickly. "It's... I'm sorry, I read that note, the- the horrible thing they-"

"Please," she said more carefully, turning away again. "I... I would like to be left alone just now."

"But they did this! I would never play a joke on you like that, you have to believe me!"

She gave a little laugh. "I have watched you, you know. Of course you wouldn't. You're not like that at all."

"Then... then why'd you run away?"

"As I've said, I- I want to be alone. I don't feel well."

This sounded like a little white lie, but he somehow knew he shouldn't fight her on it. "All right, then, if you're sure-"

"I am. If you'll excuse me, please."

It was as if there were an obstinate Shield Charm standing in the way; there had to be something he could do or say to put this right, to make her feel as if she hadn't just been the victim of a disgusting prank, but not a word came to him. Worst of all, she was asking to be alone, and if he tried anything further she might get more upset. Nodding sadly, he stepped back and allowed her to hurry past, noting that she was off toward Hogwarts.

"If I'd had a day like this, I'd probably call it done as well," he muttered to himself, heading for the Three Broomsticks and feeling nothing short of lousy.

o o o

"You're kidding," breathed Rose when he got to the part about the note. "From you?"

"See for yourself." Ripping it from his outstretched hand, she stared at it in disbelief for a few seconds before crumpling it up, furious.

"It's not on. Leading her on like that, like she's not even... they have to pay for this. How many more of those Pepper Imps do you have?"

He laughed humourlessly. "Doubt it'd work twice. Besides, that's too light a sentence for those filthy gits. Maybe if Honeydukes carried something like Pepper Dragons..."

"But we're missing something here, something key... _why_ are they so awful to her? What in Merlin's name has she done, exactly?"

"Since when do the Slytherins need a reason to terrorise people?"

"But that's just it - she _is_ a Slytherin! Shouldn't they be celebrating her being with golden streamers instead of talking about flushing her down the loo?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like her."

"Hey, I-" She shifted guiltily. "Come off it, I never said I _hated_ her. Only... well, she's so gloomy and odd. Didn't mean I wished her harm or anything."

"Right, right." Frowning, he took the wad of parchment and tossed it into his schoolbag. "But I get what you mean, I've never heard of anybody in Slytherin turning on their own kind. It's very peculiar. And I'm _really_ confused why they said it was from _me..._ "

They sat sipping their butterbeers for a while, watching the other patrons and contemplating the strange girl's plight. That is, Albus thought both of them were thinking on the same matter before, with no forewarning, Rose blurted, "I didn't mean to abandon you, really, it just didn't feel right, and everybody already thinks we're having a snog behind the broomshed or something, and you've got enough problems with the other Gryffindors, and I figured you could handle it yourself, I'd just be in the way anyway, but you probably could've used my help, and I wasn't there, and you don't-"

_"Rose!"_

She fell silent, staring into her tankard.

"It's all right." When she didn't look up, he reached over and patted her hand, gossip be damned. "There's some things we simply can't do together - you wouldn't follow me into the boy's lavatory, either. It's my fault, I just wasn't paying attention."

"Didn't used to be like this, though," she whispered. "Er, except for the lavatory part. W-we've always done everything together, since birth - seems barking that we can't."

"Yeah. But, well... there you are."

"No, I... I'm not." Her blazing blue eyes shot up to bore into his. "You're my best mate, Al. No matter how many toilets and tea shops there are, you'd better not forget that."

"Don't worry, I won't. Ever." He couldn't stave off the grin. When she wouldn't stop staring at him as if willing him not to shut her out of his life - which she was in no danger of - he figured he had to do something drastic to loosen her up. "Not as long as I have... Wombie."

The colour drained from her face, and her eyes darted around nervously. "Shh!"

"Yep." He nodded sagely, folding his arms over his chest. "Still tucked safely away in my bureau. You're stuck with me."

"You prat, don't- we're in a public place!"

The innocent blinking only made her angrier. "What? Don't want to talk about... _WOM-_ mmph!"

A few heads turned to investigate, but they were unlikely to learn more as she'd already slapped both hands over his mouth.

_END Chapter Ten_


	11. Vistas And Vexations

An aspect of the depressing events in Hogsmeade (they were now calling it the Puddifoot Fiasco) did not occur to Albus until the following Tuesday. They were in Transfiguration when he presented a query to Rose, hoping for some insight - and although he was not disappointed, he very soon wished he had not asked.

"As soon as I told Jezabel the truth," he confided, absentmindedly poking at the slug he was supposed to be casting his Vanishing Spell on, "she acted like she didn't want me around anymore."

"Well, obviously."

"But- but why? I tried to tell her it was all Malfoy's doing, yet she was still upset with _me._ "

"What?" To his annoyance, Rose laughed at him. "Oh, come on, Al, don't be thick."

"I'm not! I honestly don't get it, what did I do wrong?"

"Er, well..." She sighed impatiently, casting a wary glance at where Professor Abbott was helping Ryan Macmillan with his wand movement; as always, he looked displeased to be in Transfiguration, as Albus knew it was his least-favourite subject. "You did some insensitive things, but mostly you were smart - you backed off when she asked, you get loads of points, there."

"But- but what do you mean? When was I insensitive?"

"When you forgot to assure her that while you _didn't_ write that note, it's not because you _wouldn't._ "

"What? Of course I wouldn't, it was an awful thing to do!"

"No, you bloody-" She broke off as their teacher ran by to assist Wayne Elphinstone with his slug, which was ballooning rapidly. "Okay, let's put it this way: before she knew it was a hoax, getting that invitation must have made her feel good, right?"

"Er... I guess so?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, possibly trying not to beat him about the head for being so slow. "When you told her it was a fib, she realised you hadn't wanted to see her at all. No wonder she'd rather you went away, it must have been a great let-down for her, and dead embarrassing."

"Oh, so- ohh..." And the light flickered on at last.

"Al, what if a girl you fancied asked you out on a date, and you showed up, only to find out she didn't even remember your name?"

"I'd feel like leaping into a fire without Floo powder," he mumbled.

At last, she nodded in a satisfied manner. "Exactly."

"You don't..." Albus jerked wildly, nearly sending his slimy lesson object to the floor. "D'you reckon that girl, Jezabel... fancies me?" When Rose only shrugged, he slumped down in his chair. "But- this is- I- blimey..."

"Hey, even if she doesn't," she whispered, pausing to distractedly Vanish her slug (which became half of one at that point), "she must have been flattered. Well, before she found out you don't care she's alive, anyway."

"Don't say that," he said defensively. "It's like she said back on the Express, we're in different grades, different houses! How'm I supposed to care about her if I never see her around?"

"Oi, don't kill the messenger!" she said huffily. "Frankly, I think she's batty, but I can at least appreciate why she ran off on you like-"

"Are we having a nice chat?" Professor Abbott asked pleasantly, leaning down to stare at them intently.

Albus did knock his slug to the floor this time. "P-professor, we-"

"Didn't mean to interrupt such an involved conversation, of course, but I thought you may want to know about the extra essays you two will be doing. Also, how I'll be needing them by tomorrow morning."

They both groaned.

"Oh, don't whinge," she sighed, straightening up. "I could have handed you detentions, you know, but I think eight inches on why gossip belongs in the common room will suffice."

Sensing the indignant response Rose was about to fire off, Albus stomped on her foot under the table, and she kept it to herself.

 

o o o

Before he knew it, Hagrid's pumpkins - each one the width of an elephant - were being carved, and all of Hogwarts, the younger students especially, were buzzing about the Hallowe'en Feast. Even Olivia Wood, determined as ever for Gryffindor to win the first match of the year, called off practise for that night so they could thoroughly enjoy the festivities, but that didn't keep her from working them twice as hard the previous evening to make up for it. Albus and Rose were on their way back from a very late, very wet Quidditch practise, soaked to the bone, when they were deterred on the sixth floor.

"Oh, it's Peeves again," Rose hissed, stopping short halfway along the corridor and watching the poltergeist string a rope across the floor hoping to trip unwary students. "This is all we need, we're already carrying enough water to refill the lake."

Albus made to open a nearby door, but it was stuck. Raising his wand, he whispered _"Alohomora!"_  There was a muffled click, and he eased it open. "Quick, we can wait him out in here." He followed her inside and shut the door, but when they turned around their mouths dropped open.

They were in outer space. That is, it appeared to be; they could feel the floor solidly beneath their feet, but everything their eyes met spoke of being flung into the night sky, from swirling nebulae to glowing planets, from spinning meteors to twinkling stars.

"Al?" Rose called loudly, as if from across the endless expanse instead of a foot to his left.

"I can hear you just fine," he hissed, rubbing the ear closest to her. "You don't have to shout."

"Where in the effing world _are_ we?"

He was at a loss, gazing around and hoping for an explanation to present itself. They remained rooted to the spot, afraid to move for fear of falling into this strange abyss for several minutes before Albus turned around in desperation and grasped for the door handle - only to find it wasn't there.

"We can't go back, the door's gone. Are we... are we stuck here?"

"Albus, I- I'm scared," she breathed, reaching over and finding his hand. "What are we g-going to-"

"It's okay," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly, though he could feel terror creeping up inside as well. "It's strange. The way this looks, it's- I mean, how can we be standing?"

Experimentally, Rose jumped up and down; nothing changed. Taking this as a good sign, Albus let go of her and began to walk forward, but found the scenery changed little as he did this; all it accomplished was putting distance between the two of them, which was the last thing he wanted just now. As he returned to the spot they had been standing on, Rose started off in the other direction - the direction he thought the door had lain in, but could now no longer be sure of. It hadn't taken them long to become hopelessly lost, even though they appeared not to have moved at all.

"This is mental!" Rose called, jogging back toward him; he noticed her damp hair bobbed as if in normal atmosphere. "If there aren't any walls, why's there still a floor?"

"We're not getting anywhere." Frustrated, he pulled out his wand and muttered, _"Lumos!"_

No such luck. That is, his wandtip did flare, and it did give off some light, but it was swallowed by the vastness around them, merely brightening themselves. Frowning, he fired a Stunner into the sky, and watched as the jet of red light flew out and became a speck, fading from view. Almost afraid of what would happen, he sent green sparks between his feet.

"No!" Rose croaked, watching as the sparks sped into the blackness below as if unimpeded.

"B-but then, how are we standing?" he muttered, bending down to touch the ground; he met solid resistance. "If there's no floor..."

"Oh, who cares?" she said shrilly, taking out her own wand now and waving it around madly. "We need to get out of here and back to the common room!"

At once, a door opened somewhere off to their right; the air around it was swirling slightly, if indeed there was air around it. Blinking in the sudden brightness coming from the door, they glanced at each other warily.

"Do we dare?" said Albus.

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Why not? Even if we end up in Antarctica, it's better than waiting around in this great nothing."

They broke into a run, nearly tripping in their haste to get out of the bizarre, empty place. As they stumbled through, they heard it close with a snap.

"Whew!" she panted, pushing herself to her feet again. "That... I thought we'd never get out of there!"

"Rose..."

"Although... I do wonder what it was. Bit nifty, when you're not trapped in-"

"Rose, where are we?"

They gawped around the common room to see that the chairs weren't the same squashy armchairs they were so fond of, but of a more firm design - although they seemed as comfortable. Lacy yellow curtains hung around old portraits, being that there were no windows, and the staircases leading up to the dormitories were missing, replaced with long tunnels. A bubbling fountain sat in one corner, providing what looked to be clean drinking water; a roaring fireplace was set in another.

"What-" Rose began, but before she could finish, she heard a yelp.

"Gryffindors!"

They spun toward their left to see someone rising quickly from their armchair, mouth stretched wide, pouty lip quivering. After a moment, Albus recognised her as Dorika Dunsmore, the girl they had rescued from being lynched for stealing some bauble from another Hufflepuff; one of her eyes had been blacked recently, and he wondered if that were Belvina's doing, as well. She appeared to have been studying late, as her copy of "Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms" had slid from her lap to the rug below.

"Dorika?" said Rose, head tilting slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" she squealed, simultaneously frightened and outraged. "This is _my_ common room! What are _you_ doing here?"

"Well, er, I dunno," Albus began, starting to wonder that himself. "We just came through this d-"

But there was no door. He and Rose frantically ran their hands over the bare stretch of wall, but there was no crack, no secret keyhole. If not for the knowledge that they had been transported here by some insane, echoey chamber, it would appear they calmly strolled in through solid rock.

"Y-you two had better leave," Dorika was stammering. "I'll- I'll call Professor Abbott!"

"That's gratitude for you!" Rose blustered. "After we saved your skin from that cow Belvina, you're so ready to haul off and-"

"Rose!" Albus hissed. "Let's just get out of here!"

"But- but this is-"

"Let's go," he repeated more forcefully. They began to move, then Albus realised he had to look around for the proper exit, not having used it on the way in. Failing to spot it, he turned to Dorika and asked, "Er... how do we get out of here?"

"You- but-" She seemed too befuddled to process any more.

"Oh, that way, I'd expect," Rose whispered, pointing to a tapestry of an overweight friar offering a plate of bread and figs to a goblin, who seemed less than enthused.

"Right." Nodding at the addled third-year, they bolted for the tapestry, only to find solid wall behind it. "Oof!"

"Are you daft?" Dorika hissed, rushing over to them. "What'd you just run at it like that for? You'll hurt yourself that way!"

"Well," Albus said, rubbing the end of his nose, "it, er... that is, we thought-"

"Speaking of which," interrupted Rose, "what happend to your eye?"

"What? Oh... nothing, one of the Slytherins thought he needed to get into the Great Hall before I did; slammed me right into the door jamb." The corner of her mouth twitched. "Didn't really get away with it, though; the Head Girl was right behind us, and she docked him ten points."

"Er, that's good, then, I suppose."

"Dorika," said Albus, already growing tired of being trapped in this unfamiliar place, "if we can't just run through the tapestry, then... what _do_ we do?"

"Well, you've got to ask, don't you?"

They stared at her in disbelief. "Excuse me?" Rose demanded.

Her eyebrows shot up into her golden curls. "You... you really didn't get in this way?" They shook their heads. "Wow," she breathed, suddenly impressed. "Did- Merlin, have you learned how to Apparate?"

"Of course not," Rose said impatiently, lifting the tapestry to view the bare stretch of quite solid stone behind. "Quite frankly, I have no idea _why_ we're here!"

"You did say, 'the common room'," Albus reminded her. "You didn't specify which." Rose appeared close to fainting, so he hastily turned to Dorika and said, "Okay, then... what do we ask the tapestry?"

Her mouth turned further upward in spite of the situation. "You're joking, aren't you? I mean... just say 'please' and 'thank you'."

"Really? Just like that?"

"Well, yes."

Feeling more foolish than he'd care to admit, he turned to the tapestry and said, "Er... may we please leave?"

"Of course!" the friar said at once, as if Albus had been silly to wait this long to ask. The surface of the cloth fluttered, and when he pushed it aside again, he saw the wall behind it had melted into an archway, leading down a short hallway to the back of what looked like canvas.

"Cheers," Rose said brightly, both to Dorika and the friar made of cloth.

"Anytime," they said in unison.

"Close call, that," she whispered when the large still-life portrait had fallen into place behind them. "Now... where's this?"

"In the basement," said Albus as they passed a painting of a bowl of fruit. "I've seen Hufflepuffs heading this way after supper."

When they had reached the safety of their own common room, they immediately sat in their favourite armchairs by the fire to finish drying out, which they nearly already had by that point. Rubbing his hands together, Albus said, "So... that room."

"I know. How long has _that_ been there?"

"It was locked," he remembered. "Now I think I understand why."

"There aren't even any classes on the sixth floor, are there? I'd wager most of the rooms have strange things inside."

"Hmm... isn't Arithmancy or Ancient Runes, one?"

"How should I know? I haven't taken either!"

"We could always go back and ask Dorika," he said bemusedly. "She had an Ancient Runes textbook, she'd know."

Rose smirked at him. "Bugger that plan. I'd rather ask Hugo."

 

o o o

When everyone entered the Great Hall on Hallowe'en, they beamed at the cloud of live bats swooping over the House tables, making the candles hovering there flicker. The Jack O'Lanterns were large enough to be gazebos, and the wealth of pasties, pies and other goodies made from their innards were everywhere, giving off such a heavenly aroma Albus thought Rose might float away.

"As we tuck in," Professor Flitwick said at last when all the students were seated, smiling merrily and sporting a bright orange-and-black cap, "I've arranged for a demonstration from the ghosts of Hogwarts, who have been rehearsing night and day in old Dungeon Six to give you the best show yet. And now, I present to you... the Waltz Of The Spirits!"

Everyone laughed and clapped when the ghosts dove in on them from all directions, locking arms with each other in midair and spinning around to the haunting music played by another troupe of ghosts set up in a corner behind the High Table. They continued to perform as the students alternately watched and enjoyed the feast, and after a bit idle chatter began to break out in earnest.

"Oi, Potter!"

Albus paused, a pumpkin tart halfway to his mouth, utterly dumbfounded to see Ryan Macmillan plunking down next to him. Obviously thinking along similar lines, Rose's eyes narrowed as she set down her goblet.

"Er... are you feeling all right, Macmillan?"

"Shut it," he hissed at her, not to be deterred as he focused again on Albus. "I wanted to talk to you about that banshee."

"The what? Oh, yeah..." With all that had happened since, he had nearly forgotten about their harrowing misadventures in the Forbidden Forest.

"See, I've been thinking, and... we all made it out of there, healthy as you please. If it had been a true banshee, wouldn't at least one of us have snuffed it?"

"How do you mean?"

"Come now, surely you jest," said Barty exasperatedly. "Obviously, a banshee's screams are fatal, like that of the Mandragora."

"Don't you have somebody else to annoy?" Rose spat at him.

"But he's right," said Ryan excitedly. "And she did scream at us!"

"It might have been a boggart," said Hugo, turning around to face them more directly. "Its scream wouldn't have been at all deadly. Are any of you especially frightened of banshees?"

"I dunno," said Rose skeptically. "A boggart skulking around in the middle of a... a wood..."

But Hugo's rebuttal was never heard, for at that moment a ripple of confusion broke against them, ending their discussion. Looking around at all the whispering, wide-eyed students, it took Albus a moment to realise their consternation stemmed from what was going on above their heads.

At least ten ghosts, pearly-white and nearly transparent, were rocketing in a wide circle around the room, moving faster and faster as the witches and wizards below stared. The eerie concerto had ended, for those spirits in the string section had also joined their fellows in causing this strange, bluish-white whirlwind.

"Do they do this every Hallowe'en?" a first-year asked.

"Definitely not," Aiden McLaggen breathed.

While most of the students were transfixed at the sight, reactions ranging between terror and amusement, Albus tore his eyes away and turned them upon the High Table. Most of the teachers were aghast, taking out their wands (in Hagrid's case, the pink umbrella) though unsure of what to do with them, but both Professors Peele and Dryden seemed more grim than surprised. He also noticed Firenze was almost keenly interested, and Professor Vector was running her hands over her mouth, muttering to herself. Meanwhile, Longbottom had moved closer to the Gryffindor House table, wand out, jaw set.

His mind made up, Albus grabbed Rose's arm and bolted from the table, bent double, free arms shielding their heads in preparation for anything raining down on them. Once they had reached the relative quiet of the entrance hall, Rose made to stop, but Albus kept going, pulling her all the way to the small antechamber where they had waited with the other first-years to be Sorted so very long ago.

"What are we doing in here?" she yelped as he shut the door behind them and drew his wand. "What's going on, Al, why are they-"

"We're going to find out." Casting one last furtive glance at the door, he reached into his robes and produced a bit of folded parchment.

"What's-"

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Instantly, blackness spread forth, creating the map he'd been carrying on him at all times since the chandelier had fallen on Logan.

"Blimey," she breathed, taking in the surface of the parchment. "It- it's a map! A map of Hogwarts, all of it - even the grounds! But where'd-"

"Shh! I'll explain later!" His eyes combed all areas of Hogwarts, trying to find something suspicious, anything. There were a handful of students that weren't at the feast - a few Slytherins were in their common room and dormitories, which he found to be in an unexplored branch of the dungeons, and Dorika Dunsmore seemed to be safely asleep in her bed, perhaps catching up on what rest they had lost her the night before. Finally, he pinpointed the dot he was really looking for - Peeves, scarcely moving somewhere near the Owlery. "Damn."

"Al... where did you get this?"

He would have blown her off again, but now her voice was quite frosty. "Oh, from my dad. It's one of the presents he gave me for being made prefect, that's all."

"So... you've had it since August."

"Yeah. Fat load of good its done me, though, can't even catch the culprit of these-"

"Okay, but... why didn't you tell me about it?"

She had him there; why hadn't he? He thought back. "I dunno... that is, I only sussed out what it is and how to use it a month ago, and after that I suppose I just wasn't sure if I was supposed to have it or not, so I forgot to mention it."

"But Albus, you- we promised."

That rent him in a worse way than Damazein's arrow could ever have done - they had indeed, and he had inadvertently broken the promise. "We... wait, I-"

"We made a blood oath, remember?"

"Rosie, that was- we were six years old!"

_"So?"_

Frowning, he took a step toward her. "Hey, I'm sorry, honestly! I never meant to-"

"You swore we'd never, ever do that to each other!" Tears began streaming down her flushed cheeks, her hands curling into fists. " _Ever!_ And then you- you get something this good, this important, and you d-don't- you can't-"

Panic rose within his breast again. "Please, don't cry, it's not like that!"

"How many other choice bits are you keeping for yourself, Albus? Tell me! Or don't I even d-deserve that much?"

"Dammit, Rose, this isn't the time for-"

But it was too late, the damage had been done. He reached for her in vain as she bolted from the room, mingling with the students who were now pouring out of the Great Hall, most of them more confused than scared. Stowing the map in his robes again, he moved out and into the crowd, and as he drifted through them, he heard Professor Flitwick speak as if from far away.

"Everyone, back to their dormitories! Follow the prefects! Your Head of House will meet you all in your common rooms soon to address this situation! Go, quickly!"

Even though he was surrounded by students, Albus was making his way to Gryffindor Tower alone.

 

_END Chapter Eleven_


	12. Patching And Blatching

"All right, everyone, listen up."

The students who had been talking fell silent, sitting up straighter as Professor Longbottom leaned against the wall, running his hand through his shaggy brown hair. "After talking it over with the Headmaster, your teachers have agreed that this... unusual behaviour of the ghosts, though frankly bewildering, poses no immediate threat. Until a possible danger arises, please rest assured that we will be working to figure out what caused this, and in the meantime there is no cause for alarm. We would like you to report any further incidents of this sort to your Head of House, or any other teacher. Now, try and get some rest, all of you."

The students all began to talk at once. It took a lot of willpower for Albus to disregard the sight of Rose climbing the staircase to her dormitories, pointedly ignoring him, but he made firmly for Longbottom before he could escape.

"Professor!"

He turned, eyebrow raised. "Mr Potter, what's-"

"Listen... can I talk to you for a moment?"

The man seemed startled, but he nodded. "Let's just step outside the portrait hole."

Once on the other side, the professor took him by the elbow and led him a short ways along the hallway before saying, "All right, then, what's up?"

"Well, only... I think Peeves might be responsible for these strange things, sir."

It's irksome the way adults will sometimes smile at those still underage when they try to engage them in serious conversation, as if they're being especially cute for a photograph. "Hmm, maybe. But don't worry, we'll be racking our brains all night on this one, and if the problem gets any worse we'll probably contact the Minist-"

"No, see- that chandelier a couple weeks back. Why did it fall? A ghost would have no trouble getting up to the ceiling, but they can't touch solid objects - it'd have to be a poltergeist, or else-"

"Albus," said Longbottom kindly. "Please, listen. I'm not trying to blow you off, but you really shouldn't be worrying about this - you've got O.W.L.s coming up! And don't think we won't travel down the very avenues of thought you've suggested. We might not have exactly the same brains as you, but between the entire staff I do believe we know rather a lot. Have a little faith."

Gritting his teeth, he nodded.

"I appreciate you coming to me, though," he said as he led Albus back toward the Fat Lady. "Shows you've a deep loyalty to our school, that your concern is for more than your own safety; it's a real virtue, to be sure. Also... I was afraid you'd carry a grudge against me for being so harsh about that fistfight you, Weasley and Macmillan got yourselves into."

Albus couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, you did nearly shout yourself hoarse at us, sir... but we deserved the detentions, we were acting like prats."

Longbottom smiled warmly, whispered "Gillyweed" to the Fat Lady, and patted Albus on the back. "Tuesday morning, then?"

"Right. And thanks, Professor."

"Of course."

The only real regret Albus had about the conversation was that he forgot to mention his older suspicions, the ones about Peele and Dryden possibly being involved. Though Peeves was still his prime suspect, both of those new teachers had been present, and hadn't seemed especially unnerved by the sight of normally-friendly spirits deciding to race each other around the ceiling of the Great Hall, wailing at the top of their insubstantial lungs. But all he could do now was cross his fingers and hope the other members of staff were the detectives his Head of House made them out to be.

o o o

Nothing of interest happened in the first week of November aside from a dark aura of depression hanging stubbornly about the castle - at least, it did for Albus. Several things contributed to this, the largest of which was Rose's stony silence which he could not penetrate. Try as he might to get her alone and apologise, or at least open the lines of communication, she seemed to find new and exciting ways to avoid him altogether every day. He might have been angered by this had it not been mostly his fault to begin with, and as such he was reduced to feeling mopey.

Another thing that helped in no way at all was Ryan Macmillan's newfound fascination with both him and banshees. It wasn't as if Ryan had decided they were bosom companions and started treating him with any form of respect; he continued to throw jibes and insults at him as he prattled on and on, spinning various theories from nothingness that became more and more far-flung. If he hadn't been starved for conversation due to estrangement from his cousin, he would have told him to go swim to the bottom of the lake until the giant squid and the grindylows had him for tea.

Then again was the business of the nonliving residents at Hogwarts, none of whom had any recollection of their bizarre antics at the Hallowe'en feast and seemed rather offended by the notion that they had acted so unlike themselves. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, seemed especially dismal these days due to most students avoiding him like the plague, lest he start whirling around them.

"I'm not sure how much longer I care to endure this," Nick confided in Albus at lunch on Friday. "I haven't contracted the Vanishing Sickness! Why, I even saw young Bulstrode shoving one of his fellow Slytherins to the ground to avoid being too near the Bloody Baron, whom is normally on excellent terms with the students of his House! We don't even remember these alleged events they speak of!"

"I know, Nick," Albus sighed for the umpteenth time. "This'll all blow over, I'm sure."

His partially-severed head wobbled on his especially-thick ruff as he nodded vehemently. "I should say so! To think that I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, was to be seen screaming and streaking around the Great Hall like a common harpy!"

It was, by coincidence, Guy Fawkes Night, but there were definitely more sparks shooting between Albus and Rose than in the skies. The cousins sat on opposite sides of the locker room all the way through Olivia Wood's dissection of tactics that evening, and refused to look at each other during practise. As a result, they kept fouling things up so often that Olivia decided she had something to say.

"What the bleeding hell is _wrong_ with you two? Have you been Confunded by the Slytherins?"

They glanced at each other as briefly as they could before turning away sulkily. It was Rose who told her, "Keep out of it."

"That's rich! The Keeper telling the Captain to keep out of it?" Olivia leaned heavily on the back of a chair to glare at them, a stray dreadlock falling into her eyes. "Well, you can just keep on practising then - for another hour!"

_"What?"_

"The rest of the team need some sleep, but apparently you have too much animosity to burn off! C'mon, let's hop to it!"

And so Olivia kept them flying around, passing the Quaffle between each other for about twenty-five minutes before it came apparent they weren't so much passing it as trying to knock each other off their brooms - or at least draw blood. After another berating, she stormed up to the castle, leaving them to change and put their brooms away alone.

They dressed in silence, still taking opposite ends of the locker room. Albus finished first (perhaps because Rose was lingering on purpose) and stomped out; he thought he heard her say "git" as he left, but he didn't fancy turning back to ask.

He was somewhere along the fourth floor when it bowled him over - he had lost his best friend. This was possibly the third time in the week that the fact had given him a sound thump, but every time it felt fresh and raw. Moreover, he didn't care that he'd been trying to apologise, or that she was just being a baby about it - he didn't know how much longer he could stand being at Hogwarts without Rose. Making an unpleasant descision, he sprinted up the last few staircases to his dormitory, threw open his trunk and ripped a long, thin box from its depths. Nodding to himself in an off-to-the-gallows sort of way, he sprinted back down to the Gryffindor common room, and was just in time to see the Fat Lady swing forward again to admit Rose, who stopped cold when she saw him.

It was tense, no denying it. Rose's features were mutinous, as if daring him to say anything, anything at all so she could rip him a new one. Taking this hint in stride, he instead thrust the box forward.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"It's the other present I got for being made prefect," he said shortly. "And... it's yours."

"I don't want your stupid present."

"Go on, just... just take it, okay?"

She laughed harshly, the stray yellow clump of bangs drifting into her eye. "You really don't get it, do you? You think this is all about some old map your dad gave you, that I'd be that petty? It's the fact that you don't even trust-"

"Hold it right there!" He found his temper was rising. "God, I can't believe you, Rose, here I am trying to give you a peace offering and all you can do-"

"If that's all you've got to say-"

"It bloody well isn't!" The sheer volume in his voice was enough to quiet her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the map, okay? It was just a- look, will you take this blasted cloak, which I also didn't tell you about because I didn't think it mattered! If you like, I'll tell you about whether or not I love my shoelaces, and what drifts through my dreams at night, and I'll go into great detail after every time I use the loo! Just stop ignoring me!"

The air seemed to ring with his last four words as they stared each other down, neither one wanting to show weakness by making the first move. Then, frowning slightly, Rose reached over and snatched the box from his grasp, tossing the lid off carelessly and fishing out the cloak inside.

"It's nice," she said grudgingly.

"Yeah. And... and it's yours," he repeated.

"Bribing me to talk to you again, eh?"

"Well, obviously."

And when she laughed, it was just the barest bit warmer than the time before. "Prat."

"Go on, put it on."

Focusing on the transfer of the gift seemed a lot easier than facing the heart of the matter again, so she swirled it about herself, fastening it in the front with a flourish.

"How do I look?"

"I... I don't know."

An impatient tutting. "Come on, I'm not going to start ignoring you again if you think it doesn't suit me. Out with it!"

"No, I mean- I mean I can't see you."

"What?"

He hadn't noticed her draw her wand, much less perform any kind of spell, so he couldn't help wondering who had done the Disilliusionment Charm; nobody else was in the common room. Just then, he heard footsteps, and Cousin Barty appeared at the top of the stairwell.

"What's all this shouting? Albus, what on earth-"

"Barty, is that you?"

Another impatient tutting; everyone was being so short with him. "Yes. Who were you talking to?"

"Oh, er... no one. Rose, she- she's gone up to bed already."

"Well, you ought to do the same, then! And please, do watch the noise level!"

"I will. Sorry!"

As Barty's steps receded, Albus turned to look at where Rose had vanished, and was very startled to see her head floating in midair.

"Holy-!"

"Am I really invisible?" she breathed, holding out her arms and gazing at them in wonder. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," Albus said. "Well, I can see your head again."

"That's because I took the hood off," she said, hoisting it up again so it only hid half her face- the effect was ghastly. "How do I look now?"

"Like something we'd study with Hagrid," he muttered, and she giggled.

"Blimey, I can't believe you'd give something this brilliant away! You-"

And quite suddenly she was crying again, or very nearly so. Albus found he didn't want to see it, and when he turned away slightly it had nothing to do with how much of her was invisible.

"You... you actually missed me."

"Are you daft? Of course I did."

"Wow, I-" It was plain she was trying not to let the tears leak out, and she laughed again. "You must really have been desperate for company to part with a great thing like this! A real Invisibility Cloak!"

He squirmed. She'd be more impressed if he let her think that, but being that the whole point of contention was honesty... "Er, to tell you the truth... I didn't know that's what it was. I never actually tried it on before, I just figured it was a really fancy thing for parties."

"Oh... well, still." Then she looked up at him. "So, when you said you didn't mention it because you thought it didn't matter-"

"Yeah. I mean, who cares that much about new clothes? You didn't tell me about those socks until the night you put them on."

The thing that escaped her throat as she threw her arms around his neck was something halfway between a sob and a chuckle. Though he could do without the wetness she was leaving on his neck, he couldn't have been happier if he'd suddenly won ten thousand Galleons.

"I- I've been acting like an old harridan," she half-sobbed; he fought off a thrill of giddiness when he realised the back he was patting consolingly was invisible. "Holding you to that crap oath, of all the- we're adults now, you shouldn't have to tell me every little thing."

"Shh, don't do that. I should've told you about the map."

"But... it's not that I'm just nebby for the sake of it," she pleaded with him, drawing back and wiping her eyes. "No, really, I've always thought I was more like... more like a sister than just some cousin to you, like we could share anything!"

He frowned, trying not to let her words get to him as much as he knew he deserved. "Come on, I've already got a sister - and I certainly don't tell her any deep, dark secrets. You're my twin, remember?"

Rose grinned blearily, and in unison, they said, "One month, eighteen days' delay!" before breaking down in fits of laughter.

o o o

The mending of bridges between Albus and his cousin buoyed his confidence going into the first Quidditch match of the season like nothing else. At breakfast, he couldn't even hear the jeers from the Slytherin table, and while he appreciated the pats on the back and thumbs up from his housemates, those couldn't compare to knowing his best friend no longer wanted to liquify his innards.

Their constant stream of contented chatter began to greatly annoy the rest of the team in the locker room, so much so that James took them aside and hissed, "For Merlin's sake, will you shut it? We can't concentrate on the game with the pair of you tittering away like that!"

"Sorry, James. Guess you didn't know about... well, what they're saying."

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, trying to read his brother's expression. "What? You mean... saying about me?"

"Let's go," Olivia said at that moment, and began leading them out and onto the pitch.

"Out with it, twerp!" James snapped, but Albus merely shrugged as he grabbed his broom and hurried to cactch up, Rose covering her mouth with her hand as she did the same. He used this method of pestering infrequently enough that his brother had never quite caught on.

"Now, I want a nice, clean game," Madam Chang said, leering down Francis Litchfield, the dour-looking Captain of the Slytherin team; Albus refused to acknowledge the heat trying to rush to his face from being too near their referee again. "Try to keep the blood-letting under two or three pints, shall we? Right... captains, shake hands."

Francis and Olivia shook, nearly arm-wrestling in the process, before they mounted their brooms. With a quick glance around at the rest of the teams, Madam Chang kicked the crate containing the four balls of Quidditch over - both iron Bludgers and the tiny Golden Snitch soared into the air. She then caught up the Quaffle and held it in front of her, blowing her silver whistle just as she tossed it high into the air, and fifteen manned brooms followed it - the game was underway.

"And right off it's Potter - er, James Potter, damn confusing now Albus is on the team-"

"Language, Finnigan!"

"Sorry, Professor," Martin apologised to Professor Abbott, who was in charge of making sure the student announcer ran a socially acceptable commentary. Albus felt better about Martin not making the team now that he'd been chosen as the new commentator, replacing a rather callous Ravenclaw bloke who had left school in the Spring. "Anyway, Moore's got it now, spunky new player, wonder if a guy like me had-"

"Finnigan..."

"Right, sorry again - oops, Moore's lost it to Pucey, Pucey moving up the pitch with Pot- er, James on his tail - nice pass to Malfoy, Malfoy moving for the hoops, come on, Weasley - Wood's moving for the goal but she won't be quick enough - Malfoy shoots, will - BLOCKED!"

Albus spared a glance in the direction of his team's goal hoops to see Rose smirking as she tossed the Quaffle to Wood, who was already nearby. He couldn't help but flash her a grin in return.

"Wood passes to - ooh, nasty Bludger from Goyle, new Beater for the Slytherins, but not nasty enough, just missed her - James passes to Moore again, Moore ducks Rosier and gets - okay, that Bludger found its mark, but James is there, he's maneuvering to score - Litchfield dives wildly - IT'S IN!"

The crowd erupted; James waved cheekily to a group of Gryffindors in the stands, the girls swooning in a way that briefly made Albus wish he had a different surname.

"Rosier now in possession, the score ten to zero in favour of Gryffindor!"

"Oi, Pallid Potter!" Scorpius shouted as he passed. "How're you gonna catch the Snitch while holding hands with Rosie-Posey?"

Albus glared back, but immediately put his words from his mind; in fact, Malfoy had done him a favour by reminding him that he had a job to do. Angling his dad's Firebolt up, he began circling the pitch in hopes of spotting the golden gleam that would net their team an extra hundred-and-fifty points.

"And the Keeper saves it again!" Martin said, trying his best not to sound too happy. "Bad luck, Rosier, almost had it - and it's Moore in possession, love that sporty hair of hers-"

"Mr Finnigan, you can ask her out _after_ the match!"

"Right you are, Professor, may just do - oops, sorry Moore, think I might have distracted you there - Rosier streaking up the pitch, she's got a clear - NOT ANYMORE! Nice Bludger from McLaggen sorted her, and now Wood's got the Quaffle, she's diving down below Malfoy, he can't wrest it from her hands - she shoots - GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's twenty to nothing!"

As the cheering swelled from the red-and-gold section of the stands, Albus caught sight of the Slytherin Seeker speeding off toward the other end of the pitch; had he spotted the Snitch? Gripping the handle of his broom tightly, he sped off after him, but was halfway there when a bat swung at his throat from nowhere - he barely had time enough to duck out of its way. Then he heard a whistle.

"And that's a penalty called on Bulstrode, illegal use of a Beater's bat there - ooh, interesting, Moore's being given the Quaffle!"

Cursing under his breath, Albus turned to watch Wendelyne's penalty shot, thinking he'd rather Madam Chang had let him try and find the Snitch. Litchfield got a piece of it on the tips of his fingers, but the Quaffle ricocheted off and into the leftmost of the three hoops.

"SCORE! Gryffindor is up by thirty points thanks to their fetching new Chaser, with possession passing to Malfoy - no, it's Rosier's got it, Rosier blazing up the pitch, nobody can catch her - Bludger from Macmillan just missed her this time - quick pass to Pucey, Pucey puts it - DENIED! Weasley is in top form today, ladies and gents, and it's Wood with the Quaffle, Wood passing to - Oi, I think Albus has seen something!"

Albus had, indeed, seen something; the Golden Snitch was hovering inches above the grass near the Slytherin scoring area, and he pushed his aged broom into a sharp dive, air whistling through his ears as he became a blur to all others watching, eyes squinted against the wind.

"I do believe Potter has clapped eyes on the Snitch - yes, Yaxley's after it as well, he's streaking from the other way, two brand new Seekers tested on the field of battle! Oh, Wendelyne's scored again while the other Chasers were distracted, bang up job, Moore!"

"There are other players on the pitch, Mr Finnigan!"

"Begging your pardon, Professor, but when there's a shining star like Moore out- wait, has he got it?"

Albus's fingers were inches from closing around the fluttering Snitch, soaring just out of his reach, when Yaxley came out of nowhere and scrabbled for it. Both Seekers struggled in midair, trying simultaneously to keep the other from succeeding and grasp it themselves. Just when he was sure the Slytherin player was going to be able to throw him off, he heard a sickening crunch from somewhere above.

"Whoa! Now that's just bad form! Faith and begorrah, I've never seen a foul like that in all my - wait a minute - yes! Ladies and gentlemen, Potter's got it! Potter's got the Snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

Beaming widely, he pulled out of the dive, having taken full advantage of Yaxley's oh-so-brief lapse in concentration to end the game and secure a victory for Gryffindor. To his confusion, however, the cheers weren't as loud as they ought to have been - what was wrong with this crowd?

But then he saw Madam Chang bending over something on the ground, lying between the left and centre goal posts.

"-worst display of blatching I've ever seen, those clots should be-"

"Finnigan, please!"

Dismounting his broom shakily, he shoved his way through the knot of Gryffindors and teachers already gathered around a prone figure lying on the grass, an abandoned broomstick several yards away. Though he was still being pushed back, a brief glimpse of a canary-yellow forelock ripped his stomach from him.

_"ROSE!"_

_END Chapter Twelve_


	13. The Black Tomb

Hours passed in silence as Albus waited outside the hospital wing, the elderly Madam Pomfrey resolutely forbidding him entrance. What was happening in there? Would they be able to put her right, or- the possibility too abhorrent to contemplate, he got up to pace again, hands clasped behind his back, the struggling Snitch still within his fist.

"What's going on?"

He looked up to see the rest of his teammates, all five of them, still in their Quidditch robes and faces pale. He shrugged at Olivia, leaning against the wall and bowing his head.

"She's... they're still not saying?"

"No," said Albus bitterly. "Not a damn thing."

"And they won't let us in?" James asked, an obvious lump in his throat. He didn't even bother to answer.

They all lapsed into silence, staring anywhere but each other's faces and shuffling their feet anxiously. Finally, when Albus had nearly fallen asleep standing up, the door cracked open, and many voices sounded at once.

"Our Keeper-"

"How is she?"

"Please, you must-"

"-my cousin-"

"What a horrid-"

_"Shush!"_

They fell silent, staring up at the wrinkly old matron expectantly. She sighed, smoothed out her robes and began again. "Your teammate should make a full recovery, but she will need to stay in the hospital wing overnight and through tomorrow. No visitors tonight."

"But-"

"No buts!"

"Madam Pomfrey," Albus asked desperately, "Rose- she's our cousin, we-"

She peered down at James and Albus, taking in their colourless faces and heaving chests, before saying, "Only for a few minutes, and you mustn't wake her. The rest of you had better go on back to your dormitories."

There had to have been at least a kilometer between the doors and the privacy screen drawn around the bed at the far end of the bright, clean room. When she drew back the curtain, Albus and James gasped.

"Nearly half of her bones have been broken, and I'm afraid to say one of her lungs has sustained a puncture," Pomfrey whispered. "We've done all we can for her, and I'm sure she'll pull through, but it will look a bit nasty for a time."

Purple bruises and bandages were everywhere. Her Quidditch robes had been cut away and a simple white dressing gown draped over her instead, and her wand lay on the table beside her. There was even a bruise down the side of her face, and her jaw was set at a weird angle.

James cleared his throat, and achieved it on the second try. "What's wrong with-"

"Yes, the mouth," said Madam Pomfrey preemptively. "Hadn't got to that yet - we have been a bit busy with the rest of her, you know."

It was only then Albus noticed someone else in the room, and was startled to find it was Professor Firenze; he'd never seen him above the ground floor, as the stairs were rather difficult for him to navigate. The centaur gave no indication that he had noticed them enter, for all his attention was on Rose and the paste made from various magical herbs he was applying to her.

"Mmm," Madam Pomfrey muttered sniffily, noticing the way they were watching Firenze. "While I do think I am a rather capable mediwitch in my own right, I am appreciative of any help, of course." At that moment she noticed Albus start forward almost instinctively, and she caught him by the back of his robes with surprising speed and strength. "No, no, I'm afraid not - she's much too fragile just now."

"But-"

"No," she repeated firmly. After a moment, she whispered, "Her right hand hasn't been injured, as long as you're very careful not to move the rest of the arm."

Before they could do anything about that, the doors opened again and Professor Longbottom entered, Lily and Hugo being chivvied along in front of him, Gryffindor scarves still around their necks and faces deathly pale. Though he shouldn't have been surprised, he was when he saw Cousin Barty slip in after them.

"Neville, please, she must rest if she's to heal!" Madam Pomfrey objected.

Their Head of House frowned impatiently. "Yes, yes, but these two were going spare in front of the doors and I thought it better to let them in."

She raised her hands to the ceiling and muttered, "Very well," before bustling off to change the linens or do some other busywork, mumbling about unsafe sports and bull-headed teachers.

"How is she?" Hugo demanded immediately.

"Fine," said James. "Knocked about something awful, but she'll live."

"Thank God," breathed Lily, sinking into a nearby chair.

Hugo had eyes only for his sister, dun-coloured eyes that grew wider and wetter with every moment. "Can I - are we allowed to stay?"

"Not for long," Albus choked, patting Rose's hand tentatively as if it were made of glass.

Professor Longbottom stepped forward and placed his hands firmly on James and Albus's shoulders, whispering, "Let's give her brother some time, yeah? And Lily, as well. Come on, then, you too, Barty."

As soon as they were outside the hospital wing, the very last place Albus wanted to be, he said, "What happened out there? I didn't see-"

"Oh, it was absolutely dreadful," Barty said at once. "Those two should be given detentions for a foul like that, so unsportsmanlike!"

"Blatching," said James simply, frowning from the effort of keeping his anger in check. "Those two meatloaf Slytherin Beaters, Bulstrode and Goyle - flew right into her at top speed. It wasn't pretty, as both of them are of a heavy sort."

"I'll kill 'em," Albus growled.

"Now now, don't start talking like that," Professor Longbottom laughed nervously. "It is to be sure their actions were inexcuseable, but the last thing we need is a student swearing out vengeance."

"Yes, do buck up, Albus," said Barty in the kindest voice he could manage, which remained a tad persnickety. "We've just seen Rose is going to be fine. Besides, we did win the game despite their revolting tactics, didn't we? That'll show those ruffians cheaters never prosper!"

He saw the Professor trying not to laugh at Barty's rather insensitive logic, but he had to admit he made a certain kind of sense - they'd done this awful thing to Rose to distract him, to keep him from getting the Snitch, and it backfired on them. It was Yaxley who lost focus, not he.

"I didn't turn around. My- I was trying so hard to win us the game that- that I didn't even turn around to check if everyone was all right."

"Al, er..." James acted like he wanted to say something comforting, but was too "manly" to do so. Finally, he settled on, "You did what you had to do. Wood probably would've throttled you if Rose had to endure this and you _didn't_ get the Snitch. You played like a Gryffindor."

And that small thing made Albus's heart swell with pride. Though he'd never admit it to anyone else, even under threat of the Cruciatus Curse, on those rare, once-in-a-blue-moon moments when his brother wasn't giving him a hard time or prancing about like a show pony, it was usually because of something important, and he was usually right. Nodding vaguely, he allowed James to grab him about the head as he'd done to Lily ages ago at home and drag him off toward their common room.

o o o

Sweat beading on his forehead, Albus woke with a start. He'd been having a deeply unsettling dream in which he was a Beater and began chasing down every player on the pitch, who were all ghosts in Quidditch uniforms, waving his club and screaming, " _I'll kill you!_ " Rose had flown up to stop him, wearing a white dressing gown and shouting, "Please, stop! Don't you want to be the boyfriend of a banshee?" Just as he knocked the broom out from under her and watched her hurtle toward the ground, he heard Martin Finnigan say, "Don't you hurt her, Potter - we're to be married this afternoon!"

Wiping his face, he strode to the window for a sip of water, watching the moonlit trees sway and the lawns ripple in the chilly breeze, heaving a sigh as he thought about the dream. So much was going on lately, so many thoughts careening through his mind - the ghosts, Peeves, odd presents from his father, the Slytherins (a constant thorn), a pretend banshee, floors that weren't real, two suspicious new teachers... and the Headmistress, Logan, and now his cousin, all injured severely in the school he had thought to be safe. The worst part of it all was that even before he could sort any of these out, a new enigma would be thrown into the mix and all his hopes of understanding life again would be dashed.

James and Albus had returned to the common room to tumultuous applause, everyone pounding them on the back and offering them bottles of butterbeer they'd procured from God-knows-where. They had especially wanted Albus to retell the tale of him catching his first game-winning Snitch, which began zooming around the common room once he finally let it go, but he hadn't been very enthused with that proposition, opting instead to retrieve his broom and schoolrobes from the Quidditch pitch before heading up to bed. The rest of the day had felt long and pointless with Rose in the hospital wing.

Then, just as the cold, painful sorrow connected to Rose began to set in, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Curiosity piqued, he leaned a bit farther out the window and swept the grounds, but nothing was out there. Why would it be? Consulting his watch, he saw it was almost one in the morning. Just when he had decided it was his imagination, there it was again - an unknown moving very near the Forbidden Forest, atop the dark object on the edge of the lake. Something stirred from the depths of his memory - a break between classes, over two months ago. And more recent events connected with that one, and it made a certain kind of sense.

Albus decided he'd had enough of mysteries. He wanted to know what this thing was, even though it bothered him much less than the other things he couldn't explain - the main reason being he knew exactly where to go to receive answers. Immediately, he thought of the Invisibility Cloak, but Rose had it - she'd probably lend it to him gladly, but he hadn't asked her what she'd done with it, and she was getting much-needed rest at the moment. Even so, he found himself feeling more and more restless, and with restlessness comes recklessness.

Dressing quietly, he thought about his only possible course of action. It was a desperate, stupid idea, really - nobody in their right mind would attempt it. Then again, Albus wasn't exactly in his right mind at the moment. Stowing his wand and the map in his cloak pockets, he reached under his bed for the tool that would make his ridiculous plan possible: the Firebolt. Madam Chang had said he could store his broom in the shed with the rest, that this was normal practise, but he couldn't bring himself to do it; it was his dad's, and he wanted to make sure it was always safe. Besides, Rose didn't leave her Nimbus to rot in some smelly shed.

When he checked the map to see if the coast was clear, it seemed he wouldn't have to worry about much; only Mr Urran was patrolling the corridors as usual, though he noticed Professor Dryden pacing in his chambers, and that Dorika Dunsmore was in her common room, more likely than not having nodded while studying again. Making sure Peeves was on the other side of the castle (near the Owlery), he moved to the open window, stuck the broomstick through ahead of himself, took a deep breath, and leapt out onto it.

Everything felt dangerous and alive - here he was in the wee hours of the morning, not only out of bed, but hovering miles above the ground! Trying not to laugh out loud lest he wake all of Gryffindor Tower, he pointed his broomstick toward the grounds, swooping away from his dorm and toward the lake, watching the light reflected in its surface as he passed over it. Then, as he drew closer to the spot where he knew the monolith to be, he slowed considerably, straining to catch view of it before it could catch view of him... assuming it was what he thought it was.

Was it the banshee? It did have long hair, and it was humanoid. Ryan had a valid point when he said it could be something else, for being that neither of them had been zooming around the Great Hall with the other ghosts, it was either not a banshee or else feeling particularly forgiving on the night of their detentions. What if it was feeling more bloodthirsty tonight? Thinking quickly, he set down out of sight behind some trees, withdrew his wand, aimed for the greenhouses and whispered, _"Accio Earmuffs!"_

Albus tried not to feel too badly about the small crash he heard as something erupted from what he thought to be Greenhouse Three and hurtled toward him, landing in his outstretched hand. With a grimace, he realised it was the fluffy pink pair everyone avoided using if possible. Glancing at Hagrid's cabin to make sure the noise hadn't woken him, he shoved the ugly muffs onto his head, blocking out all sound, and began skimming the lakeshore toward the cause of his curiosity.

As the creature came into view, he realised he was lucky in that it seemed to be turned in exactly the opposite direction, seated on its perch of stone. Alas, this also meant he was still going into this blind. Steeling himself for the worst, he drew his wand and landed deftly on the ground behind it.

The sound he'd made must have been nominal - he couldn't hear a thing at the moment - though audible enough to reach the thing's ears, and it whirled to face him, scrabbling backward and falling to the dirt, mouth stretched in silent screams. It took three full seconds for him to connect the dots in his brain, which shocked his larynx into speaking.

"Jezabel!" he gasped, ripping the earmuffs off and running over to her. "But- but- _you're_ the banshee?"

"St-stay back!" the waifish Slytherin gasped, sliding away from him across the ground, the white slivers of eyeball visible through her matted, wavy hair wide and fearful, shivering as she panted. "I- I've got a wand!"

But as she drew it, Albus stowed his. "Relax, will you? It's just me, Albus."

Freezing on the spot, she turned her head this way and that, then finally whispered, " _Lumos!_ ", pointing her wand directly at his face. Though she had almost blinded him, the light casting back down on her rapidly-pinkening features confirmed his opinion.

"That was you we saw in the Forest last month, wasn't it? You screamed!"

"I d-don't know what-" Understanding reached her as well. "Wait... you thought I was a banshee, didn't you? Oh, I didn't realise it was you, Albus, I'm s-sorry, that must have been frightening. But... but why were you in the woods, and who was that with you?"

"Detentions." Albus walked over to help her to her feet, but she merely stared at his hand as if afraid it would bite her, so he backed up to let her rise on her own. "Me and Rose and that Ryan Macmillan kid got ourselves in a spot of bother, that's all. We were supposed to help Hagrid - well, nevermind."

"Oh, I see." Nodding as she moved meekly around the stone, putting it between them, she said, "And... why are you here now? That is, I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"Er, actually... I did think you were a banshee. Well, only because Macmillan keeps talking about them; we've been trying to figure out why the banshee's scream didn't kill us, and- er, I couldn't sleep, and I saw you down here, and..."

"And you wanted to find out for sure," she said softly. "Yes... yes, it would be strange to meet a banshee and not die."

There was silence for several moments; what he could see of her eyes were taking in his broom and the earmuffs, flitting to his face between. Had Rose been right about Jezabel liking him? Almost as if she were following his train of thought, she whispered, "So, I- I'm sorry about your cousin."

"You mean Rose?"

"Yes... she's in the hospital wing, isn't she? Terrible accident like that..." When Albus didn't respond after a minute, she said, "I could leave."

He blinked. "What?"

A pink tongue wet her thin, pale lips as she swallowed nervously. "If you wanted to stay - stay here, be alone. I could leave if you wanted."

"No, of course not. You're as welcome to this, er, spot as I am." Then something else occurred to him. "Hang on - I know why I'm here, but why are you? It's late, and it's so cold out here."

"Oh..." It was plain by her nervous twitchings that she didn't want to answer. "It's just... there's no real... it doesn't matter."

Some part of him broke free of the rest, straining to reach out to this weird being. "You can tell me. If it's a secret, I swear I won't tell."

"Th- that- it's not a secret," she almost spat, clutching her hands to her chest. "That is... well, you know now, and it won't be the same anyway."

"Er, I'm sorry." He wasn't even sure what he was apologising for.

"This was my place." With a vague kind of warmth, she gazed around as if this grassy stretch bordered by trees and water were her childhood home, or the spot where her beau had proposed. "Nobody could touch me here, because nobody comes here. Safe, quiet... even the people who saw me across the lake wouldn't come, they don't want to go into the Forest, or the lake. I could be alone, and not worry."

"Worry about what?"

Thin shoulders shrugged, and a delicate hand idly caressed the cold, black thing she had been sitting on. "Other students. Students see me, and they back away, or hurt me. But when I'm here, it's only me and this tomb, and of course the tomb won't do either of those things."

"Tomb?"

Nodding, she leaned across and pointed her lit wandtip to the very base of the black marble tomb. Albus was sure that nobody but Jezabel would have noticed the words there, for even if they came here, they wouldn't have spent enough time in the clearing to memorise every inch of its surface. Squinting, he could barely make it out, even now:

"SEVERUS SNAPE: 1959 - 1998. The Light Of His Heart Shone Amid Darkness."

Albus stumbled backward, landing hard on his tailbone as he drew away from this ghastly slab, heart threatening to burst from his chest. "No... n-no way!"

"Wh-what's wrong?" Jezabel squeaked.

"You... don't you know who this _is?_ "

"I do," she said mildly, so intrigued by his actions that she apparently forgot she was somewhat intimidated by him. "He was Headmaster the year of the Battle of Hogwarts... I've heard he wasn't terribly popular, that's why no one ever comes to pay their respects like they do for Headmaster Dumbledore's tomb across the lake." A minute passed in silence before she added, "I-it seems he had something important to do with the Dark Lord's downfall, didn't he?"

"He was a double-agent," Albus choked, eyes still on the tomb. "Pretending to do Voldemort's bidding while really helping keep his students safe... and..." When she only stared at him, wondering why he was acting like this, he felt compelled to spill the rest, though he definitely would rather have left this small lakeside clearing and put the memory behind him. "And he helped my father take him down. Though no one knew it, he was helping to manipulate things in the background, not showing anybody his true face until the very end... when he told Dad what he needed to do to make sure Voldemort was finished for good."

"Oh," she breathed. "I'm sorry, I hadn't realised your father knew him."

"They didn't get on well." Grunting, he pushed to his feet and backed yet further away. "Professor Snape gave my dad up as a bad job in school, he says, but... but he sacrificed himself to take down the greatest Dark wizard of all time."

"I don't understand," she said softly, edging around the stone to close the distance he had hastily put between them. "I- I'm sorry, please don't be angry, b-but if he helped your father, why are you so..." She didn't seem to want to insinuate that he was behaving strangely, so she fell silent.

"That's... well... my middle name is Severus," he finished in a rush.

Her eyes widened. "It is? Then... then you were..."

Nothing seemed to move for a time save the tree branches and the waves on the water, Jezabel's hair trailing behind her, making the fluttering that had drawn his eyes to this tomb on two occasions. Unbidden, his lips formed the words, "How can you stand coming here, knowing there's a dead body rotting away right under you? That's so... so strange!"

The outburst made Jezabel catch her breath, looking down at her tatty old shoes. "W-well, like I said... no one b-bothers me here. I don't mind the tomb, he can't hurt me... and it sounds like he wouldn't have done, even when Mr Snape was alive."

"There must be other places, somewhere in the castle where you can have a little peace! Why not the Owlrey, or the library?"

She laughed, a very modest, fearful laugh. "Oh, when I go to the library the other Slytherins whisper nasty things in my ear; they know if I cry out or do anything rash, I'll be the one Madam Pince asks to leave. They- well, it's the same with most places I try to hide. They find me... or the other students stare at me until I can't stand it, and I go. But they don't come here."

With a great wrench somewhere in his gut, the day he first met her came back to him. "On the Express... when Rose and I found out you were a Slytherin... I'm sorry, we kind of-"

"I expected that," she cut him off, but she sounded vaguely distraught all the same, pulling at the neck of her robes. "Nobody wants me around, you know. It's true - the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws won't have anything to do with me because I'm a Slytherin, and the Slytherins despise me because I'm Muggle-born. So I- I keep to myself, do my homework... watch from afar."

Something in there didn't sound right; forgetting his wariness of the old Headmaster's final resting place, he moved closer. "Wait, you're... you're Muggle-born? And a Slytherin? Blimey..."

"It's very unusual," she agreed. "But... you'll want to ditch me now, don't you? Don't feel bad, everybody does. I'm not very interesting, I just do my schoolwork and visit the tomb... eat, sleep. At least you're not going to hurt me... are you?"

Albus sincerely hoped he'd never have to see that fear in her eyes again, especially not with regards to himself. "Don't be- wait... do the Gryffindors gang up on you a lot? Y'know, like on the train?"

"No, no," she said hurriedly, as if accusing them would suddenly bring them down on her in droves. "Well, sometimes, because I've done something they don't like, or interrupted them, or something. No, it's the other Slytherins, mostly - they like to try out hexes and jinxes on me."

He blinked. "They _what?"_

"When I was in third year," she went on, and Albus was sickened to hear her tone change as if this were an amusing anecdote, "Patricia Montague tried to do a Permanent Sticking Charm on me - she wanted to see if she could fix me to the ceiling of the girls' dormitories. Of course, it didn't quite work, I fell down after a few hours."

"Merlin's pants, that's awful," Albus gasped. Then his mind went back to Madam Puddifoot's, and it seemed more like par for the course.

"She left school two years ago," she added quietly as an aside.

"B-but that's- you're in their House!"

Jezabel shrugged, sitting back on the tomb and drawing up her knees. "Slytherins don't really care for Muggle-born witches and wizards. The ones that don't hurt me, they ignore me as if I'm invisible. It doesn't matter, it's the way they are; the same way my mother likes my sister better, the way the other Houses avoid me on principle. I'm... unwanted, that's all."

In the face of what he was hearing, Albus found it almost shameful that he'd been unsettled by seeing his namesake's coffin. More than that, he was ashamed for thinking she was a banshee, and more still that he'd somehow contributed to her feeling of worthlessness twice before. And he'd seen them mistreat her, heard them call her things like "The Great Mistake"... all because she didn't fit their template for what they thought a Slytherin had to be. Then it came back to him, and he was sure he'd be sick - Wendelyne Moore had called her "Scurvy". Someone from his own house, his teammate...

And she took it all in stride. Her matter-of-fact tone as she explained her situation at the bottom of the Hogwarts pecking order turned his stomach. Disgusting as her classmates' actions seemed to be, things like that happened so frequently that her mind saw it as normal, and saw things like kindness and compassion as abnormal - worse yet, frightening and threatening. How could her family, the Hogwarts faculty and all her peers have allowed one girl to become this warped?

"I- I think I'll go on up to the castle." Albus started, looking around at where Jezabel was standing near the trees, preparing to reenter the wood. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed her move. "The other Slytherins are asleep by now. G-goodnight, Albus Potter."

"Jezabel..."

She seemed startled to hear her own name. "Y-yes?"

Nothing was good enough to make up for the understanding that had just unfolded in his head - for the five years she'd been putting up with it herself. "I... I could give you a ride, you know. On my broom, so you don't have to walk through the Forest."

"No, no, that's okay," she whispered. "You... that's very kind of you, and I appreciate it, but I'll be fine. The Forest... I've been through it so often, it's like it knows me. You should head in, too, it's quite late."

"But-"

"I'm fine," she insisted, trying not to look at him as though she wasn't allowed. "Goodnight."

Albus lingered just long enough to watch her disappear between the trees before picking up his Firebolt and the earmuffs he had dropped. Then, with a last, pained glance into the Forest, he mounted his broom and flew back up to his dormitory, hoping he would wake tomorrow feeling at least less guilty than he did then for having done so well in life.

_END Chapter Thirteen_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's raining out right now, and I thought I'd take a moment to chat. So this chapter is an important one, I feel. Shows more sides of certain characters than we have (or will in future) usually see. Ooh, peeking behind the curtain! Anywho, thanks for reading, I'm glad some of you are amused enough to keep on. R&R please and thank you.


	14. Something In The Water

"You did _what?"_

Though Albus had predicted Rose would react this way when he told her about his late-night excursion on Sunday afternoon, the ringing in his ears from her shouting caught him off guard. "Bloody hell, Rose, will you watch your volume? You're going to get me thrown out of here!"

"Sorry," she hissed, glancing over at Madam Pomfrey, whom had indeed glared in their general direction after her outburst. "But... why?"

For roughly fifteen minutes Rose remained silent, tightly bound and sitting up in her hospital bed as Albus related the story of the faux banshee and the other marble block on the edge of the lake. When he was finished, though she'd gasped and frowned in all the right places, she didn't exactly seem impressed.

"But you could've been caught, and Urran would've flogged you straightaway! Oh, come on, Al, what on earth were you _thinking?_ "

"I know, I know... I wasn't, really. It just- dammit, there's so many questions, and I thought if I could sort one mystery once and for all I might relieve some pressure! But..."

"Yeah," she breathed. "A Muggle-born Slytherin! Blimey..."

Albus snorted humourlessly. "That's what I said."

"This is stark raving bonkers! We may have just verified that there aren't any death-dealing sirens swarming around Hogwarts, and now you've a new problem, don't you?"

"Is that what it is?" He wasn't being a smartarse, because he really didn't know what to do or think about any of it. "Jezabel Skirrow isn't in our House, she's not in our grade... sure, we get on reasonably well, but I don't think that makes us mates or anything."

"Hmm, she seemed to think you more than that in Hogsmeade," said Rose, her nose crinkling as she took a hunk of Honeydukes chocolate from her bedside table.

"Shut up."

She leaned back, wincing from some small pain. "You are right about one thing: even if she were a loathsome, lice-infested tart, she wouldn't in a million years deserve to be treated the way she is!"

"Even though she's a Slytherin?"

"Even if she were Voldemort," Rose seethed, crumbling up the chocolate she had been on point of eating. "Mind you, I still think she's creepy, and skittish, but... can't something be done? Anything?"

"Trust me, I feel the same way." Albus propped his feet up on her bed, not acknowledging the offended "tuh!" of its occupant. "Trouble is, I can't think of a thing. All we can do is tell our Head of House, but... what would he do? Tell them to leave off teasing her? Tell Dryden to put them off it? It's like all the obvious solutions would only make things worse for her, which is the opposite of what we want."

"This is making my brain hurt," she whimpered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don't we have enough stress from our O.W.L.s without rescuing a Slytherin from her own dungeon?"

o o o

The unpleasant truth of it is, she needn't have fretted. After the encounter at Professor Snape's tomb, they saw hide nor unkempt hair of Jezabel, even though they were now officially looking - especially around the tomb, which she either did not return to, or did so in such a secretive manner that they couldn't find her at all. Rose postulated she'd skived the rest of the year, but Albus thought differently; one of the few things she told him she did with her time was homework, and if she left school she'd have even less to do with herself. It seemed more likely to him that she'd been serious when telling him her sanctuary had been compromised, and he felt awful for forcing her out. Many hours a day did he spend pondering where she was hiding now, whether she was all right...

Between their classload and gruelling Quidditch practises, the last three weeks of November seemed to slip through their fingers. Albus found himself enjoying school again, for with no further ghost hijinks and the banshee mystery out of the way, his free moments were concentrated on Jezabel and the Slytherins, and as they could never find Jezabel to try and speak with her again, the mysteries slowly took a backseat to everyday life. It did occur to Albus to check the Marauder's Map for her occasionally, but the only time he ever spotted her dot on it was when she was in the Slytherin dormitories, and he certainly couldn't meet her there.

On the subject of Slytherins, Cygnus Bulstrode, the seventh-year who had helped Timothy Goyle blatch Rose in the Quidditch game, turned up in the hospital wing complaining of a horrible stomachache, and it's only noteworthy because it gave the Gryffindors a good chuckle in the midst of their gruelling studies. Madam Pomfrey had to pump his stomach, as well as feed him an enormous load of chocolate and Pepper-Up Potion. Albus couldn't spare him much sympathy, as not only was Bulstrode notorious for eating anything on a dare, but pairing that with fact that Rose had spent the weekend bedridden because of the Beater made him far less likely to care.

As a prefect, it also seemed to Albus as though Rose had been right: every student in the castle had been waiting for them to get their badges before misbehaving. Rose caught Zacharias Travers, Atticus Malkin and Timothy Goyle skulking around by the old Divination tower trying to skive off classes, and had to dock them house points before getting them to move along - not that this was unusual behaviour for Slytherins, but they'd never had to worry about tending to the problem before. Later the same day, Albus himself walked in on Tanith Moon and Kayla Sylvanus, friends of Lily's in her year, in a heated catfight over who got to return a quill Albus had left in History Of Magic. He found it difficult to reprimand them while all three students were turning steadily redder in the face, and settled for pulling the quill out of their hands and scarpering out of there before he said or did something silly.

"What you have to understand, Al," Rose chortled between bites of bread and stew at dinner, "is that you're the star player of the team, now, so you're bound to have a fan club. Caught the Snitch your first game, didn't you? That sort of thing brings fame."

"I didn't feel very famous, not with you bloodied up on the pitch."

"Sorry about stealing your thunder, mate. Kind of unfortunate that had to happen in your first game, the day should have been yours."

Albus gaped at her. "Come off it, do you really think I'd hold that against you? They nearly snapped your spine!"

She shrugged, reaching for her goblet of pumpkin juice. "I know, just saying. But all that aside... which one do you fancy more, Tanith or-"

"Will you be quiet? They're right over there!" Rose only crowed louder.

It happened that Rose's birthday fell just a few days after the third-years had battled for Albus's affections, and while her comments had made him want to give her naught but a raspberry, he wrapped a gift hurriedly and Spellotaped it closed. He threw the little package at her that morning in the common room.

"Joy, Honeydukes sweets. And- what in the bloody-?"

Out of the package she pulled a pair of bright-green socks with roses embroidered on every inch of them.

"The buds wilt if you don't wash them often enough," he laughed.

She glared at him. "Just what exactly are you trying to say, here?"

Several days later, Barty confided in them that he'd seen Dorika Dunsmore being thrown out of the library for drooling all over one of their books, having fallen asleep atop it. This only increased Albus's pity for her, and he resolved to tell her to get a good night's rest lest she kill herself.

In fact, it seemed life was quite rough for poor little Dorika, as when she debuted as Hufflepuff's new Chaser at the second and final Quidditch game of Fall term she couldn't have performed worse. Nearly every time she had the Quaffle she fumbled it, and missed several easy opportunities to steal from one of Ravenclaw's players. Most attributed this to lack of sleep, or nerves - possibly both. Either way, Dorika's team lost by a dismal 190 points, and the next day her eyes appeared twice as bloodshot as before.

It occurred to Albus that something had changed without him even realising: Ryan Macmillan and Puerilis Logan were no longer behaving like baboons at every available opportunity. The shift had been so imperceptible that it had taken him this long to notice, but ever since their car maintenance quest in the Forest and Logan's being skewered, neither had held the same vigor in knocking him as in previous years. Being that Albus was very, very thankful for this, he didn't bring it to their attention.

December dawned cold and snowy, bringing the thing that made most students begin to let their minds drift from classwork: Professor Longbottom circulating through the Great Hall with a clipboard, asking students if they would be signing up to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas break. The mere mention of the thing coming up made it much more real in their minds, and Albus and Rose were no exception.

"Can't wait to get out of here," Rose was saying, waving away the clipboard when the professor came by. "Sleep in my room, drop by the Burrow for tea... not be blatched by frogspawn-for-brains Slytherin barkers."

"Like to get back to Grimmauld Place, myself," Albus agreed, politely declining also. "Still... this place isn't so bad most days, is it?"

Her eyes wandered to where the Fat Friar was being shunned by most of the Hufflepuffs, then to Logan, examining the scar on his leg again. "Most days."

o o o

As if the ever-increasingly taxing work during class weren't enough, it seemed the teachers had decided the best Christmas gift to their students would be a tottering pile of essays and studying in their last weeks before the Christmas holiday. It was under these Albus and Rose found themselves every evening in the Gryffindor common room, struggling to dig their way to daylight.

"That's got Dryden's essay done," Rose sighed, tossing a roll of parchment toward her bag and coming up short. "Drat."

"Just leave it," said Albus, stifling a yawn. "You can pick it up when you go to put this Transfiguration illustration in there."

Without warning, she exploded. " _Argh,_ I can't take it anymore! D'you want to get out of here?"

"What? But we can't, there's so much-"

"It'll be just as much an hour from now! Let's have a fly around the castle!"

"I get more than enough flying five nights a week, thanks." Despite the fact that they wouldn't be playing in another Quidditch match until late February, Olivia Wood had stepped up practises yet again, and if Albus never saw his dad's broom again it would be too soon.

"Then let's... hey, there's an idea! Let's go to the bathroom!"

This certainly made him look up. "Let's _what?_ "

"The prefect's bath - we can go for a swim in there, it's big enough for a whole load of people! Man, that sounds good right about now... c'mon, let's go up and get-"

"Rose, I'm not following you into the bath!"

Scoffing loudly, she rolled her eyes at him as she slammed her book shut. "Oh, get over it, will you?"

His eyebrows raised. "This coming from the girl who didn't want to be seen walking into Madam Puddifoot's with her cousin on the off-chance the Daily Prophet might do an article?"

"Yeah, er, well..." Albus was satisfied to see her cheeks flush. "Anyway, who's going to see us? I've got an Invisibility Cloak, remember?"

"And I've got the map," he gusted resignedly. A break was sounding more and more desirable, the manner of leisure notwithstanding. "But... I really don't understand you, this is _way_ more conspicuous than walking into a tea shop together."

The mischievous glint in her blue eyes was all too familiar. "Only if we're _seen._ "

And so it was that Albus found himself under the cloak with Rose on the fifth floor twenty minutes later, the Marauder's Map held in front of his eyes, scanning for possible perils and kicking himself for agreeing to it every step of the way. He felt sure that this was far more likely to result in gossip than having a coffee with Jezabel in Hogsmeade would have done, but once his cousin's mind was made up there was no use in trying to alter its path of destruction. When at last Rose whispered the password ("Decretum") and eased the door open, he could at last breathe a sigh of relief as they threw the cloak aside.

The prefect's bath wasn't so much a tub as a white marble swimming pool - the only difference being there were dozens of taps set all around the edges, each one adorned with a different jewel. A pile of soft white towels sat in the corner, waiting for the bather. There was also a painting of a beautiful mermaid that might spy on you if she were awake and in the mood, so most prefects got used to slipping into the water as quickly as possible.

"You start the taps going, I'll bolt the door and get us towels," said Albus briskly, at which she sniggered.

"Relax, Al, we're not even doing anything wrong. This is our bath to use, isn't it?"

He grunted, kicking off his shoes. "Still feels weird."

It always amazed him how quickly the bath would fill up once you turned a few taps on, even more than it amazed him how many different kinds of suds came forth from each tap. They more or less ignored the bubbles now, focusing instead on pulling off the robes they'd thrown over their swimming costumes and making sure the towels were close enough so they wouldn't slip walking across the marble floor. Albus was rewarded for it all with a hearty laugh.

"You call _that_ a cozzy? Merlin!"

"Knock it off, will you?" she snapped, blushing furiously enough to match the brick-red stripes among the day-glo yellow ones. Her arms crossed in front of herself in a reflexive attempt to hide as much of the bathing suit as possible. "Mum bought it two years back, I wasn't even there!"

"And what's this knobbly bit here? Honestly, I can't believe you actually kept- _OOP!"_

He couldn't make fun of her anymore once she'd pushed him in.

After a few minutes, he had to admit the idea was genius. Tension had built up in every single muscle while they toiled over sheaf after sheaf of parchment, and the water seemed to melt it all away, leaving him with a detached sense of well-being. Equally cathartic was Rose being there to get into splash fights with and talk to, and he found himself wishing the whole school could have swimming parties in there now and again to let off steam.

"Bet he does it again this year." Rose spat a jet of water into the air from where she was floating on her back, squinting an eye that had got a soapsud in it. "Nose touching the floor and everything."

"Well, that's their M-O, isn't it? To be all servile and cowtowing. Enslavement of their kind and all that."

"You don't think it's sad?"

Albus sighed. This was far from a new argument. "I do. I flinch every time James sneers at him, or shouts at him. Of course, James doesn't treat anybody particularly well - rotten across the board."

She slipped beneath the surface of the water, bobbing back up and slicking her red (and yellow) hair behind her head. "And that makes it okay?"

"Hey, you think I like living with a git like him? Don't go judging us by his actions! Anyway, I know it's not the same with all wizarding families, but... Dad treats Kreacher okay, and so do I. What else can we do?"

He could tell by the way just one corner of her mouth turned down that she had more to say on the subject, but decided to put it on hold until she could think it through properly. Instead, she paddled over, placed both hands on top of his head and held him under until his lungs burned - he retaliated by swimming to the bottom and pulling her legs out from under her, and in a few moments all thoughts on the rights of non-humans were forgotten.

Nearly two hours had passed by the time the two were picking their way back to Gryffindor Tower beneath the cloak, more or less dry and thoroughly at peace with the world.

"You liar, she does not!"

"I've seen the way she looks at you, mate," Rose whispered, trying not to laugh out loud for fear of Mr Urran lurking behind the next corner. "Every day at practice, and in the corridors. Your list of admirers grows ever longer."

"Yeah, well, I don't like her," he growled harshly. "She's a foul, snotty little wench if you ask me."

He didn't need to see her eyebrows raising to know they were. "We are talking about the same Wendelyne, aren't we? Wendelyne Moore, the blonde-"

"Yeah, yeah, the very same."

"Snotty? Funny, she never struck me that way... of course, she can be unpleasant now and again, but if she'd stop hanging around that vile Brunhil-"

They both stopped dead at the same moment, then spun to face the opposite way; the sound was coming from the corridor below. Taking only the briefest moment to gape at each other, they hurried over to and down the steps to the fourth floor, where they met quite a sight.

Elizabeth Larkins was crawling along the floor, shaking and breathing hard, occasionally whimpering. Albus noticed her schoolbag was dangling half-empty from her shoulder, and that mingled saliva and tears were running down her chin. A suit of armour was on the floor behind her, most likely having been knocked over when she tripped. She seemed wild, unhinged, even dangerous. Taking a step back, he nearly pulled the cloak off Rose before she followed him.

"What- what's wrong with her?" Rose whispered.

"I don't know... has she gone wango dingo on us?"

"Looks that way, but- but why? I never pegged Larkins for-"

"Who's there?"

They slapped their hands over their mouths, but Elizabeth's eyes were already boring right through them and flicking to either side. "P-please, will you leave me alone? Y-you- I didn't- I just want to be left alone, why won't you listen, what've I ever done to you?" They didn't even have time to exchange a mystified look before she continued her insane rantings. "I'm sorry, I- I've been a bad person, I'll change, I swear, but you- my ankle hurts, and I haven't slept, so can't you find someone else to torture? I'm j-just a girl, I- I can't handle this!"

Not knowing what else to do, Albus led Rose back to the stairs where they quietly ascended. When they reached the top he whispered, "We should get Professor Longbottom."

"Yeah, but... but somebody needs to watch her. You go on, you're the fastest on foot between us."

"All right. Make sure you stow the cloak, wouldn't want anyone finding out about it."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for not underestimating my intelligence, Al."

Deciding it best to def her out, he dashed down staircase after staircase, his mind once again sent racing with possibilities. Had Peeves done this? Was it one of their new educators? Or had Elizabeth simply cracked under the pressures of her studies? They were all feeling it; it's why he and Rose were in the corridors to begin with, after all.

When he finally reached the door to Professor Longbottom's chambers, he hesitated for the briefest moment before knocking loudly. Several seconds passed before the door creaked open and the puffy-eyed Head of Gryffindor House yawned his greeting.

"Hmmnh?"

"Professor, there's been a- well, I don't know exactly, but it's Elizabeth, she's acting completely mental!"

All trace of sleepiness was gone at Albus's words; the professor was now standing erect, pulling an old stained robe over his brownish pyjamas and shutting the door behind him. "Where?"

"Up this way, on the fourth floor - Professor, she might've hurt her ankle, too, I'm not sure-"

"Lead the way."

The scene had changed rather a lot when Albus returned to it; Rose was standing nearby while Elizabeth cowered against the wall, utterly distraught and screaming indistinct words of warning at her. By the red scratch on Rose's cheek, Albus guessed she'd tried to help her up.

"Calm down, calm down," Longbottom soothed, walking slowly toward her. "Everything's going to be all right, Miss Larkins. Now... what's happened to you?"

"You're not here, none of you, too much- I don't know which way is up anymore, and it's all... ever since the bathroom, in the bathroom is when it went wonky, and now I just don't know anymore, there's no-"

"Shh." He'd reached her side and held his hands out in front of him slowly. "Look, Elizabeth- no, look here, see? I'm not armed, I'm not going to hurt you. Now, er, how about we go into this empty classroom, here? I believe there's a few chairs in this one. Come on."

It took some doing, but a few minutes later they had Elizabeth settled in a chair in a dusty old room, which the Professor had lit warmly with a flick of his wand.

"How about a spot of tea, then? Might help calm you." When she nodded shakily, he waved his wand again and a piping-hot cup appeared in his hand, which he offered to Elizabeth. She took it, glanced at him suspiciously, then sipped. "There we are. Now, from the top... what's got you so jumpy?"

She took another large gulp of tea. "Well... I'd been studying all night, you know - I'm taking Arithmancy, and it's dreadful stuff." The professor smiled. "Anyway, I- I... d'you promise you won't be angry?"

"Angry?" asked Longbottom, bemused. "Whatever for?"

"Well, because I... went down to the kitchens to nick some biscuits," she blurted, twisting a bit of her lank brown hair around her finger. "I've had a craving all day, and the house-elves are always so generous with- but that's not important. See, I was on my way back from there, and I felt I had to, er, use the little girls' room, so I stopped in..."

Several seconds passed in silence as Elizabeth withdrew into her own mind. Rose coughed and said, "And that's it?"

"No, of course not!" she snapped. "Sorry, but I've had a rough night, you know?"

"Well, er, no, we don't," said Albus truthfully.

"What I think your friends are _trying_ to say," Longbottom cut across them, "is that we're still not sure why you're upset. Please, continue."

"Okay, sure. So I had just washed my hands and was about to go back to the books when... when she started in on me."

All three of them said as one, "Who?"

"Moaning Myrtle." And the tears welled in her eyes so fast Albus was sure they'd sprung a leak. "It was like she'd been waiting to get me alone for ages, and now she had me she... oh, the things she said, such mean, awful, nasty things, about me, about m-my family! I- I wanted to leave, but she'd say something else that would- would catch m-me off guard, and everything was so personal, and vile, and it was s-s-so horrible!"

"There, there," Professor Longbottom whispered, pulling her into a warm, comforting hug and frowning at Albus and Rose over her shoulder as if to say, 'I'm completely bewildered and have no idea what else to do but this - how about you two?' When they both shrugged, he returned his attentions to the sobbing girl who had dropped her teacup to the floor, where it shattered. "I'm sure it was all rubbish - you're an exceptional student, and a fine young woman. As for your family, your mother was in my year at school, and you couldn't hope to meet a nicer person!"

Even as Elizabeth pulled back and turned a bleary smile up at him, Albus and Rose exchanged that mystified look at last. Regardless of what had actually caused the normally-mopey ghost to behave so viciously, it seemed there had been one more spirit-related disaster at Hogwarts this year.

_END Chapter Fourteen_


	15. Bitter Honey

Whether or not it was because Elizabeth Larkins's best friend, Catherine Orchard, had betrayed her trust, or because someone overheard them and started blabbing it to anyone with ears, Albus didn't know, but one way or the other it took no time at all for the news of Elizabeth's breakdown to spread throughout the castle, and for the other students to begin giving the girls' lavatory on the second floor a wide birth. Both Albus and Rose knew they hadn't been the ones to begin spreading rumours, so it must have been another student in their dormitory, which left only one person...

"Well, it wasn't me," Aqua Rankin protested when they asked her during Herbology class that afternoon. She and David Jones, a Hufflepuff prefect who also happened to play keeper for his House, had been assigned to the same station where they were Regerminating the Fanged Geraniums, for which using dragonhide gloves was a must. "I mean, sure, I heard about it, but... maybe it was Catherine, you know? Elizabeth tells her everything."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Come on, I wouldn't think Catherine'd blab. It must've been you."

"I'm offended!" Her icy-blue eyes were still glinting, her mouth twitching to reveal her alarmingly-pronounced canine teeth. Those, in addition to her wild, shock-white hair radiating from her head like a corona had always made Albus slightly jumpy around her, as if she might start devouring people at any moment. "Why should you think I'd do anything of the sort?"

"How about the rumour you spread last year about my being kin to a Dementor?"

"That was just-"

But Albus interrupted her. "Or that time you said the reason I had green eyes was because I'd eaten a load of Gurdyroots as a baby?"

Aqua half-sighed, half-laughed. "You can't still be-"

"Or," David spoke up unexpectedly, "that real jackanory you told in our third year about all the Peruvian Doxies, Professor Nott's manky handkerchief and a hidden vat of Felix Felicis under the-"

"All right, all right, give over, will you? Sweet Matilda's Moontrimmer, you'd think I'm, I'm... some sort of old fabulist or something! I've got a right to report the news, don't- OW!"

Evidently, the geranium she'd been standing over had decided her shouting was too loud and sank its tired teeth into her arm. She was less prone to shout at them from the hospital wing.

The thorough interrogation of Moaning Myrtle by the staff proved entirely fruitless due to the fact that she had either contracted amnesia (and as her head was not solid they couldn't say she bumped it), or simply did not wish to tell anyone what she'd said to Elizabeth. Given what Nearly Headless Nick had been telling everyone since Hallowe'en, Albus was sure she honestly did not remember having done anything of the sort. Incidentally, the second floor corridor came to be flooded soon after Myrtle was accused of the crime, as she'd pulled off every tap in her out-of-order toilet in protest.

At long last, they had come to the last schoolday of term before Christmas vacation, which nearly drove all thought of ectoplasmic oddities from Albus's head - excepting that Elizabeth continued to look pale when he passed her in the corridors. The students and ghosts became prone to bursting into Christmas carols without warning, and when the portraits and suits of armour did this many first years had been seen toppling over in fright. Yet stranger was the way Professor Dryden had been unusually kind to them that morning in Potions, and Albus himself was very stunned to be held after class.

"Y-you wanted to see me, sir?"

"Mm, yes, Potter." The Potions Master laid aside the quill he had been using to scribe a letter and folded his hands on the desk, dark-blue eyes piercing him. A quick glance at the heading seemed to indicate it was to a Potions committee of some sort. "I wanted to speak with you about your marks in this class."

Albus gulped.

"They've been rather exceptional for a student of your House," he went on, paging now through his gradebook. "Not necessarily genius level, but surprising nonetheless."

"Wh... what?"

"Have you ever considered work in the field?" Suddenly he found an emerald green pamphlet hovering under his nose bearing the words, "The Subtle And Exact Science Of Potions In Today's Wizarding World". "Healers, Aurors... firewhiskey distillers, the list goes on. You may not invent the next Wolfsbane Potion -" here he smiled smugly, though he did not elaborate "-but wizards and witches like Mrs Scower had to start somewhere, didn't they?"

The shock of thinking he was going to be condemned only to be commended was not easily overcome. "You- you really think I'm that good, sir?"

"Certainly. Well, Mr Malkin or Mr Lewis may perhaps be more naturally adept, but you've grown by leaps and bounds over this single term." The professor chuckled, an action that seemed bizarre in the face of how gruff he was toward most students in his class. "That Befuddlement Draught you brewed last month, that was a model potion, to be sure. I recognise talent when I see it, and we true Potions Masters are always on the lookout for potential minds to swell our ranks."

"Sir... I can't help but wonder why you're being so... so-"

"Nice?" Dryden finished for him, frowning as if the word caused him discomfort. "Please, I'd rather not even be teaching this class, but I intend to do the job to the fullest of my... ample abilities. You really think I enjoy being harsh with my students?" When Albus only stared at him, he cleared his throat and said, "Fine, perhaps a bit, but I do it because I must. Don't you see? Keep order, or chaos will reign supreme. But I digress, and it's time for lunch. Go on, take the pamphlet, think about it."

When Albus had put it in his schoolbag, he picked up the quill and shooed him toward the door; Albus was almost there when the professor called out, "This doesn't mean you can neglect that essay on the Glumbumble - not if you want to make it into my N.E.W.T. class."

Rose literally laughed him out of the Great Hall when he told her of Dryden's praise.

"You're having me on," she giggled, quickening her stride to keep up with him even as he was trying to get away from her. "You, a Potions Master? You, who once poured murtlap essence all over the cat thinking it would give him wings?"

"Shut up, will you?" Albus could only pray the group of Slytherins not far behind didn't overhear. "I wish I'd never said anything! Besides, that was James's fault, he told me it would-"

"Excuses, excuses!"

Her teasing only snowballed as they tromped through the frozen grounds toward Hagrid's cabin, cloaks and woolen caps barely shielding them against the biting winds. He was inches from telling her to jump in the frozen lake when Hagrid came out bundled up in his moleskin overcoat and declared, "Salamanders terday, you lot!"

Most of the students grinned thankfully; salamanders dwelled only in fires, which meant Hagrid had likely saved this lesson for the coldest day of term on purpose. "Yep, abou' a dozen or so fires set up in back, so's yeh won' be crowded! Now, can anybody tell us wha's so special 'bout salamanders? Catherine!"

"Well... they can't survive without the fires they're borne from," said Catherine. "And even if the flame is still going, they can't leave it for longer than a few hours."

"Righ' - ten points ter Gryffindor! Okay, then, there's summat else, anybody know- Wayne?"

"That'd be their blood - it's got some kind of curative properties, I heard."

"Exactly - take another five fer the House." Wayne seemed rather pleased with himself.

When Albus made to take a bonfire with Ryan Macmillan and Puerilis Logan - both of whom did a double-take when they spotted him coming their way - Rose finally ceased winding him up and began exploring the subject in earnest.

"But you don't want to be an Auror, do you? And a Healer, honestly, we've both seen enough of hospital rooms without _working_ there!"

"Yeah, I know, but... well, think if I just worked in the field of Potions. Could do okay if I brewed something to, say, make you impress the gaffer? Or even..." He lowered his voice so Hagrid wouldn't hear, as he was sure the notion would be viewed as sacriledge by the gamekeeper. "...what if I made up a draught that enables you to see thestrals without having watched somebody snuff it? I mean, there's all sorts of things we don't have solutions for yet, right?"

"Hmm..." Rose lapsed into thoughtful silence as she sprinkled pepper on a tiny blue-white lizard, watching it lap up the flecks with its tongue. It wasn't until the lesson was nearly over that she hissed, "But what if he knows?"

"Knows what?" He was too busy helping to throw snow on their fire to try and puzzle out her meaning, watching sadly as the salamanders faded away into nothing.

"That you've named him as a suspect during all your spook sleuthing. I mean, he was really spreading it on thick."

"Good to know I can't possibly have done well in Potions," he replied coolly.

"No, that's not what- look, you might be dead corking, mate, the next great potioneer of our times, but... that doesn't mean he didn't have an ulterior motive for buttering you up."

He nodded, lips pressed firmly together. "That's great, that's just lovely. You wouldn't even acknowledge my theories before, but now find them a convenient explanation for why a teacher might ever compliment me on my work. Thanks, Rose, this means a lot."

"Al, will you-" But he was already on his way up to the castle, walking much faster than she could hope to move without legging flat out.

o o o

By Saturday morning, the slight squabble over Albus's future career was forgotten - especially in light of several heartfelt apologies given by Rose. Thus, the mood was more or less chipper as they headed into Hogsmeade for the final weekend of the calendar year.

"So, what first? Do we need any more sweets?"

"Nah, I expect we'll be getting loads in our stockings," said Rose. "I would like to pop in Gladrags and see if I can get a new cloak cheap, there's a hole near the small of my back that lets the chilliest breezes in..."

The day meandered along, pleasant though cold as it had been the day previous. Albus bought a few trinkets from Dervish & Banges for his parents, thinking it would be his easiest opportunity for unobserved shopping. Rose was displeased with the prices of cloaks in Gladrags Wizardwear and resolved to ask her mum to either take her to a secondhand shop in Diagon Alley or simply patch it herself; besides her skills in interspecies relations and translating ancient runes into modern text, Aunt Hermione was an expert at knitting, and was quite famous (or infamous) for sending out hats and scarves as gifts.

When they'd exhausted most of the activities, they returned to the Three Broomsticks for a few warm pints of butterbeer and to see who else might show. They hadn't even drained their first draught when Tranquilius Thomas made for their table.

"All right, you two?"

"Better now," Albus said, raising his tankard. "Yourself?"

But he needn't have asked, for next moment a voluptuous strawberry-blonde girl seemed to spring up from nowhere and take the crook of his arm, cheek pressed into his shoulder as her coquettish eyes fluttered down at them. "Albus, Rose."

"You know Ouida Rousselot, don't you?" asked Tranky, almost able to hide how nervous he was around her.

"Oh, yeah," said Rose carelessly, trying not to act as if she were going to break out in gales. "So, have you two been having a nice time?"

"Hogsmeade certainly is beautiful this time of year," he commented, winking at Albus, who was now fighting back a chuckle as well. "Anyway, we'll be seeing you around, then. T'ra!"

The moment Tranky and Ouida had moved far enough away, the two instantly started laughing. "Holy hippogriffs, I thought I might dampen my knickers!"

"And since when does Tranky say 't'ra' like that?" Albus chuckled, wiping an eye. "You know, it's only a thought, but it might be that Ouida intimidates him."

"Only just! Cor blimey, I thought he'd- hmm."

Albus lowered the tankard he'd raised to his lips. "What's that, Rose?"

"Look," she hissed simply, nodding toward the bar. Wondering if he was about to witness a spectacular match of tongue-wrestling, he turned, and was sadly disappointed.

Professor Dryden was seated at the bar, nursing a flask that was emitting a kind of bluish steam. This would not have been strange had Professor Peele not been sinking into the seat beside him, motioning for the buxom old bar matron.

"They're talking, aren't they?" said Rose from the corner of her mouth. When he nodded, she shifted surreptitiously, reached into her bag and pulled out a wad of flesh-coloured string; sorting out two of them from the rest, she began feeding the ends in the general direction of the bar.

"Quick, take it," she whispered. When he stuck the end she handed him in his ear, she hissed, "No, you idiot - use the _other_ ear, they can see that one!"

Frowning at her, he obeyed, hoping he looked as if he were merely leaning on his hand in a tired sort of way. Within seconds, the teachers' voices grew louder on his end of the Extendable Ear, and he concentrated hard on making out their words.

"...instances all over Europe, dating back to the Dark Ages." Peele. "Why, right here in England, the late Nineteenth Century-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Dryden hissed. "I paid attention in History Of Magic, thank you very much."

"But surely if _you_ can recognise-"

"What's wrong with this thing?" Rose growled, drowning out Professor Peele's next words; she was wiggling her end of the string, eyebrows knitting together. "Damn, I told you I needed a new-"

_"Shh!"_

"-well and good," Dryden was saying. "But the chimaera is nothing but-"

"Is it?" she insisted. "The rest of the staff are either too young, or have been hidden away at Hogwarts so long they can't conceive of-"

"Shh!" It was Dryden who said it this time, not Albus. "Our position at this school is not so secure that we can go around insulting our superiors - a lone term under our belts!"

"Our inaction may spell our downfall, Austerus." Her tone was severe. "This will not resolve itself, and I daresay if they don't sort the ghosts out soon, they might not stop at exorcisms."

The two gazed evenly into each other's eyes, opposite shades of blue connecting in an invisible struggle of wills. Then, both conceding a draw, Peele moved to the other end of the bar with her tankard and Dryden returned to his flask.

"What a bust," Rose sighed, reeling in her Extendable Ear. "Didn't hear so much as a dicky bird. How about you?"

"Oh, I heard plenty." In a low voice he related all he was able to overhear.

"What does _that_ mean? You don't think..." His cousin gulped noisily. "They're going to bump off Nearly Headless Nick!"

"It's as close as a ghost can come to being bumped off, I suppose," Albus agreed.

"That's not... they can't do this! Nick's a part of Hogwarts, all the ghosts are! We can't let them do it, Al, we'll have to-"

"Maybe they're just talking about it," he said bracingly. "You know... like, if they can't get the ghosts under control some other way, which I'm sure they will - I mean, the teachers are more or less the greatest witches and wizards in Britain, aren't they?"

"I suppose." Her tone could not have made it plainer that she wasn't convinced, and the several hairs hanging from her teeth echoed the same.

"And the 'chimaera'... what's that about?"

Rose shrugged as she picked up her tankard. "Oh, that; well, chimaeras are really rare monsters - I don't remember anything about them except their eggs are a Class A Non-Tradeable, so they must be dangerous." She took a sip of her butterbeer. "Urgh... it's gone cold."

They continued to discuss the strange scene all the way out of Hogsmeade, though the longer they talked about it, the less sense everything made.

"I don't particularly remember anything about a chimaera rampaging through England in the late Nineteenth Century," said Rose. "You'd think that bit would stick out in one's mind!"

"What I'd like to know is, what does a chimaera have to do with ghosts? Can they, I don't know, make them go wonky with its roar or something?"

"And why is their inaction going to do anything? I mean... if they are behind these attacks, wouldn't inaction _save_ them?"

"Unless Peele meant they needed to act fast - finish the job before anyone caught on."

 _"What_ job?" Rose wailed hopelessly as they tromped past Mr Urran and onto the grounds. "What the bloody hell are they trying to accomplish? We're all scared witless, sure, but if they want us dead there have got to be faster, easier ways!"

"Rose-"

"Try dropping the chimaera in our midst! Or better yet, fly a dragon in and start roasting the student body one by one, instead of making old Myrtle haunt some-"

_"Rose!"_

"What-?" But the word had scarcely crossed her lips before she knew exactly what.

Proudly propped up in the middle of the snowy lawns was the blue-tinged figure of a young witch, divested of all but her undergarments. She was staring off toward the Quidditch pitch, arms firmly pressed to her sides, long black hair billowing all around her emaciated frame in the cold winds. Even as Albus wondered if this were some perilous form of student protest, he noticed a large group gathering around her, some laughing, others merely staring as if disgusted or offended.

"Al," Rose breathed. "Is... is that who I think it is?"

Edging their way around a cluster of tall seventh-years, Albus tried to get a better look, and was sadly unsurprised to find Jezabel Skirrow's nose peeking out from the mad tangle of hair undulating on the surrounding air. He was sure those were tears frozen to her cheeks, and her frown was somewhat resigned to this compromising, potentially fatal happening.

Revelations began to creep through his mind. First, that someone had once again done something odious and unwarranted to this innocent target of hatred. Second, he suddenly became aware that he was gaping at her nearly-bare figure, and he jerked his vision elsewhere, the colour rising powerfully in his cheeks even as he continued to feel anger and pity.

"It's the Body-Bind Curse," Rose hissed in his ear. "She can't move, she- she's got no choice but to stand there and take it."

But as Albus watched Scorpius Malfoy whisper something to Genevieve Nott, watched her giggle in response, he gritted his teeth, blood rushing in his ears as he said, "We'll see about that."

Before Rose, Scorpius or the mob could react, Albus had his wand out and trained on Malfoy, closing the distance between them with alarming speed. The Slytherin's grey eyes had just enough time to register he was about to receive something unpleasant when Albus bellowed, _"MELLISIO!"_

 _"Hey-!"_ Malfoy shouted, but his words were immediately cut off by several pints of a viscous golden substance that gummed his eyes, nose and mouth.

"Maybe that'll shut you up laughing at other people's misfortune!"

Scorpius desperately began scrabbling at the offending gunge as Timothy Goyle and Chester Pucey glowered down at Albus. He did not flinch, instead falling back into a dueling position, almost hoping one of them would dare raise their wands. Just when he was sure he'd have to take the entirity of Slytherin House on, he heard a clear voice ringing out over the white lawns.

"What's this about? Please, you mustn't- Good Lord, what the devil's going on here?"

It was a tall, lean, curly-haired wizard Albus vaguely recognised as a teacher- but all questions were answered when Rose called out, "Professor Finch-Fletchley, thank Merlin you're here!"

"Stand aside, budge up there, I say!" the Muggle Studies professor ordered, parting the crowd and arriving at Jezabel's side. Albus was both relieved and ashamed to see Rose had removed her cloak and placed it around the rigid girl's bare shoulders; he should have been seeing to that instead of foolishly attacking Malfoy. "How did this girl come to be out here like this? Come now, don't any of you know?"

No one was answering. From somewhere on his left, he heard Wendelyne Moore say in a low voice, "Mightn't she have done it herself? I mean, if anyone's mad enough to stand about naked in the snow, it's her!"

When Albus turned around and glared directly at her, she fell silent, eyes downcast.

"All right, that's enough," Finch-Fletchley ordered the onlookers, who slowly began to drift toward the castle, most of them looking as if they'd been denied a real treat. "Move along, all of you, nothing more to see here! Best get in out of the cold!"

"Professor," said Albus quietly, walking up beside them, "It's Malfoy who's done this, I'm sure of it!"

"Malfoy... the blonde one, Draco's boy?" He blinked, though acted as if the notion were unremarkeable. "Did you see something?"

"I-" Suddenly it sunk in that Albus's proof was almost entirely circumstantial. "Only that I saw them laughing at her, but-"

"Oh." His fair face looked vaguely disappointed. "At any rate, we should get this young lady indoors before we discuss the matter further, shouldn't we? Let's see here..."

With a wave of his wand, the snow around Jezabel's feet melted away, though she remained upright, her back straight as an arrow.

"Some form of Sticking Charm, I'd wager. Let's try-" Another wave and she fell back into his arms, which he flung under her in the nick of time. "Oof! Potter, if you'd be so kind..."

As Albus hoisted her icy feet into the air, her hair fell back enough to reveal wide, forlorn eyes, still as darkly fetching as the day he'd first seen one of them on the Express. The cloak also dropped away, and both he and Professor Finch-Fletchley averted their gaze as Rose hurried to replace it, draping it over her as if a tablecloth and shivering all the while. When he saw the hole Rose had mentioned was now directly over Jezabel's navel, Albus wondered how much more humiliation this pitiful creature would have to endure in one day.

_END Chapter Fifteen_


	16. Digging For Dirt

"Now then," said Professor Finch-Fletchley, turning to face Albus. "You mentioned something before about suspecting young Malfoy, didn't you?"

Ten or fifteen minutes after they'd come in from the frigid lawns found the four of them in Professor Longbottom's office, a small but cozy room with a vague scent of fresh earth lingering about. A non-Petrificused Jezabel was sitting in an armchair wrapped in several blankets, sipping piping-hot mulled cider and trying not to meet the eyes of the other five people in the room - for much to Albus's displeasure, Dryden had met the others there.

"Scorpius?" Dryden's eyebrow raised. "Surely not! I've never had a moment's trouble out of him, he's been a-"

Professor Longbottom halted him with a look. "Austerus, please. Let the boy speak."

"It's like I said before - he and Genevieve, they were laughing and whispering to each other. It looked to me like they had something to do with it, sir."

"Is that all?" Dryden said drily. "That proves nothing, other than they perhaps harbour a rather despicable sense of humour. If that's all the evidence you can provide, then I'm afraid we-"

"But what about the Puddifoot Fiasco?" Rose half-shouted.

"Eh?" said Finch-Fletchley. "Puddifoot... that's the teahouse down in Hogsmeade, isn't it?"

"They were so terrible to her, they- and then- oh, you tell them Al, I can't talk for growling. Besides, you were the one who met her later."

"Er, okay, well-"

"P-please stop," Jezabel whispered, scarcely audible in the small room. "Don't."

Albus stared at her, dumbfounded. "You- but- Jezabel, those sods have been-"

"I- I'd rather no one knew." She clutched the mug tightly in her pale fingers, looking straight down into it. "Please, d-don't tell them."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he said, "I'm sorry, but... but you deserve better." He turned back to the teachers before he lost his bottle. "Rose and I saw Scorpius and his friends standing outside Madam Puddifoot's - this was that weekend before Hallowe'en. Anyway, we overheard them talking, and they as good as said they were playing a joke on her. Jezabel was inside the place, you see, and they were watching her as they talked."

"What sort of a joke was it, Potter?" Longbottom asked.

"Er..." One look at the blotches on Jezabel's cheeks prevented him from divulging the full extent of the truth. "They'd told her somebody wanted to meet her in there that day. Well, they were lying, and I guess they did it to watch her suffer. It was a lousy thing to do."

"Potter," Dryden began slowly, "you say you overheard this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where were you and Miss Weasley standing, exactly?"

He didn't like the direction this was taking. "Er... just on the side of the road."

"There were so many students in the village that day," Rose added helpfully. "Malfoy and his friends probably didn't notice us there, or at least didn't realise we could hear them."

"Indeed." Dryden's navy-hued irises contracted as he scrutinized Albus. "I seem to recall that on the day in question, Mr Malfoy came to me with a severely-burned scalp, saying it had caught fire without warning or cause. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this episode of spontaneous combustion, would you?"

"Sorry," Albus replied, hoping against hope his face was the picture of innocence. "That must have happened after we'd moved on."

"I'm sorry to say," Longbottom cut in sharply as Dryden's mouth opened again, "that without any tangible proof, none of these stories amount to anything more than that - stories. We ought to simply get Miss Skirrow some clothes and-"

"The note!" Rose burst out, turning to Albus, her eyes triumphant. "D'you still have it?"

"Oh, er... I dunno." He hoped for both his and Jezabel's sakes that he didn't.

"Come now," Finch-Fletchley began, leaning on Longbottom's desk to stare at him more directly. "If you have anything at all that can help us put a stop to this..."

He tried to catch Jezabel's eye as he drew his schoolbag into his lap, to let her know that he'd rather not do this and how sorry he truly was, but she had bricked her vision up behind that wall of messy, raven locks. Slowly, painfully, he reached into the forgotten depths of his bag and presented the crumpled note to his Head of House, trying again to communicate nonverbally that he'd rather the note's contents not be made public.

"Ah, I see." Perhaps he was desperately imagining it, but he thought he saw a wave of sympathy flash briefly across Longbottom's round, scarred face. "And you suspect Scorpius himself wrote this? Well, there are simple enough ways to test that. Here-"

Still unsure if these things were a mere figment, Albus again was positive he waved his wand first at the slip in his hand before flicking it in the direction of a nearby filing cabinet. The second drawer crashed open, and several rolls of parchment flew out, landing neatly on the desk.

"Last year's final written exam," he gusted, unfurling the topmost roll. "Hmm... the handwriting is strikingly similar. See for yourself, Dryden."

Albus had felt sure Professor Dryden would glance up at him the moment he spotted his name, but he did not - the Potions Master merely grunted, saying, "Inconclusive."

"But Austerus," said Finch-Fletchley, peering down at the evidence himself, "almost every stroke is-"

"And how did Miss Skirrow come by this?" Dryden asked, frowning at the miserable head amid its nest of blankets. "Did she find it atop her clothes one morning? Really, anyone could have forged young Malfoy's hand and left-"

"No, sir," Albus interrupted. "She told me he gave it to her himself."

"Told you he- you've spoken with her about this before?"

"Yeah... that is, we had a talk, about a fortnight after. She says her Housemates are always doing nasty things like this to her, because- er, well..." Though there was no shame in it, he found he could not expose her secret without her consent; it wasn't his right.

"Why not?" He was startled to find it was Jezabel who'd spoken the words. "It's not as if it matters anymore, they already know so much." She fidgeted a moment before blurting out, "I'm a Mudblood."

Dryden and Finch-Fletchley's jaws dropped, and Longbottom's brow furrowed. Several looks of utter disbelief were exchanged between the teachers; meanwhile, their students grew increasingly uncomfortable, trying not to feel like they were foolishly making a mountain out of a molehill. Finally, Professor Dryden spluttered, "Well, this- this- I've never heard of such a thing! A Muggle-born in Slytherin House? Salazar himself would be shocked!"

"Austerus," said Longbottom warningly.

"It is unheard of," Finch-Fletchley murmured, also glaring at the Potions Master. "With the general attitude prevalent there, it's no small wonder she's still alive."

"Justin, please!" Dryden snapped, drawing himself up. "You can't think I would ever condone- I merely meant it's severely unusual! These are progressive times, to be sure, but traditions aren't so easily broken as-"

"Thank you, Austerus." Sighing wearily, Professor Longbottom rose to his feet. "Now, it certainly has been many years, and... and we should consult with the Headmaster first, obviously, but I should think-"

"Head _MISTRESS,_ you mean."

Everyone turned to the doorway, simultaneously aghast and delighted to see the aged Professor Sprout leaning heavily on a cane, a playful look of incredulity on her cheery face. "Honestly, you miss one term and everyone's quite ready to forget you exist. Where is the loyalty, I ask you?"

 _"Pomona!"_ Professor Longbottom leapt to his feet at once, hurtling around his desk to greet her so fast he nearly sent Finch-Fletchley to the floor. "You're back, we- when? Oh, there had been no word, we would have planned a welcoming, or-"

"Oh, pish-tosh, Neville," Headmistress Sprout muttered, hobbling over to an empty chair and sinking into it with a groan. "Term is over, the students will be leaving in the morning - no sense making a fuss."

"Really, it'd have been no-"

"Merlin's beard," she breathed, glancing around at the rolls of parchment, Albus and Rose, and Jezabel, huddled amid her sheets. "What's all this, then?"

Longbottom followed her line of sight, all previous thought having been swept from his mind by the reappearance of his favourite professor and current superior. "Oh... spot of trouble, nothing dire- though we should discuss it eventually." Albus noticed him glance at he and Rose, as if the subject were suddenly no longer fit for mere students' ears. Sure enough - "I think it best you two go and get started packing. In fact, let's us teachers move this to the Headmistress's office to give Miss Skirrow here some privacy so she can get some clothes on."

Though Professor Sprout's eyebrows receded into her white flyaway hair, she said nothing as they exited Longbottom's office. Just before closing the door, Dryden said, "One moment, we've forgotten-" And he conjured a set of robes, resting in a pile on the desk as if they'd been there all day. "No need to bring the blankets or mug with you, I'm sure the house-elves will see to them."

Rose twitched at this, but seemed to decide now was not the time.

"Oh, Potter," said Longbottom, stopping short as the other teachers began to move off. "I believe this was yours?"

Albus was surprised to find the scrap of parchment being pushed back into his hands. He muttered a thanks as the professor hurried to catch up with his fellow staff members.

"Like we wanted it back," Rose grumbled.

"Rose, look."

As he'd suspected (and was relieved to find he was right), Longbottom had magically removed his name from the note before showing it to the others.

"But that's- he can't have-"

"Guess he did."

"Wow, that's... that's big of him to do that for you."

"Yeah. Suppose he reckoned it wouldn't hurt if-"

The door to Professor Longbottom's office creaked open and eyes hidden in a tangle of dirty hair peered out at them. When the door began to close again, Albus grabbed the handle.

"Jezabel, please, I'm sorry! I didn't want to tell them any of that stuff, really, but- but we-"

"Then why did you?" The tone of her voice was dismayed, but he had a sneaking suspicion she was angry. "I... I just want to be left alone, and now you've gone and told- now- what if they kick me out of school, or snap my wand in half? What will I do then?"

"Come off it, they wouldn't destroy your wand," Rose scoffed. "Not for being on the _receiving_ end of attacks!"

"But you heard them." At last, she surrendered and stepped out into the hallway, now wearing grey woollen robes that looked itchy but only stocking-footed; Dryden hadn't produced a pair of shoes. "All of them. They were as shocked as you when they heard I'm a Mudblood - moreso, even."

"Stop calling yourself that!" Albus fought back an unnatural desire to shout her down for using the term. "And, well, I'm not sure what Dryden's problem is, but he's bang out of order. So what if you're not a pureblood witch? My grandmother was Muggle-born."

"So's my mum," Rose put in. "Those Slytherins are just a gaggle of gits, you ask me."

When Jezabel spoke again, Albus noticed a tremor in her tone, and that her hands were twisting at the cuff of her frayed sleeve. "That's the problem, though, isn't it? I'm supposed to be one of them! And now the teachers know I'm not, and th-they- it's just like Patricia used to tell me, they're going to expel me because there's no place for me here! Oh, Albus, why couldn't you have left it alone?"

He made to block her as she pushed past him, fighting back a fit of sobs with little success, but Rose latched onto his arm with a grip so firm he thought she might snap his forearm. When he opened his mouth to protest, she hissed, "Let her go."

"Go? Rose, she's got it all-"

"Give her time. I know, Al," she sighed when she caught the mutinous look in his eyes, "but she's had an especially rotten day in her already rotten life. Leave her be."

"But-"

"We can talk to her tomorrow."

"No, we can't!" he burst out hotly. "Tomorrow we're catching the Floo!"

"That's right." Her face slackened. "I forgot."

"Don't you see? We have to catch up with her now, right now - we can't let her go two long weeks with this rubbish hanging over her!"

"We'll do it in the morning," she said firmly. "We can wake up early, stake out the dungeons - make sure we've got a chance to talk some sense into her."

Albus hated that plan. He hated every plan that didn't involve storming into the Slytherin common room and forcing Jezabel to see reason. Even so, he could appreciate that Rose probably knew what she was talking about, and so it was that he allowed her to shunt him down and into the Great Hall, where he could scarcely even look at his supper, much less eat any of it.

o o o

It seemed to Albus that Rose lacked a sense of propriety. This thought came to him when he awoke to find her sweaty hand over his mouth, their noses an inch apart. When his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw her other hand holding a finger to her lips and stopped struggling; they were going to try and catch Jezabel before she went home for the holidays. She waited until he sat up, nodding, before she tiptoed back to the open door and shut it behind her as quietly as she could manage.

"I can't believe you," he hissed five minutes later as he joined her in the deserted common room. "Sneaking into the boys' dormitories - what would your mother say?"

"She'd say, 'Oh, I used to do that, too.' Hurry up, will you?"

They weren't even serving breakfast yet when the twosome arrived downstairs, yawning and gazing around blearily for other signs of life. A few minutes ticked by before Rose said, "Oh - Al, do you have the map on you?"

"Right." Taking a moment to listen for approaching footfalls, he withdrew the weathered parchment, activated it and scanned the dungeons for Jezabel's dot. There it was, safely tucked away in her dormitory, so he pocketed it and said, "She's not up yet."

"Thought not. Well, let's settle in, then - Chocolate Frog?"

An hour crawled by. It hadn't taken them long to revive the subject of the latest attack on Elizabeth, and the unsettling conversation they'd listened in on at the Three Broomsticks.

"What if that's why Dryden was so cold to you in Longbottom's office?" Here Rose paused to take a bite out of the half-eaten Licorice Wand she'd found in her pocket. "Because he knows we were tabhanging?"

"I don't think so," he said slowly. "He sounded angry enough about what Peele was saying to him without needing any other reason to be sulky."

"It did sound like a bad row," she conceded. "And she said they should do something about it, whatever it is. Almost sounds like Dryden was scared."

"D'you think this might be what all this business is about? Dryden using the ghosts to make the other Houses feel scared, or else physical pain? Y'know, to make the Slytherins look good - and he didn't want me accusing Malfoy of doing anything to Jezabel, cos that makes it seem like they can't even get along amongst themselves. And now Professor Peele's onto him, or he's getting cold feet or something."

"But the ghosts scared everybody on Hallowe'en, including the Slytherins, so that can't be it..."

"Maybe..."

"What?"

It was far-fetched, even by his own standards, but it surely would do no harm to give voice to the hypothesis. "What if it's all just a great smokescreen? What if he's up to something really awful, with this chimaera of his, and he's casting - I don't know, the Imperius Curse on the ghosts just to keep everybody distracted?" When she didn't tell him he sounded like an idiot, he pressed on. "I don't know if you'd remember, but I had a thought before, that- that Logan may have found out something about Dryden, something bad, and that's why he had to get him out of the way! I mean, what if Elizabeth found out the same-"

"Is there a reason you two are up with the sparrows?"

It was as if they had invoked his name. "P-Professor Dryden, we-"

"Why, it's only now coming on six o'clock," he said quietly, staring between the two Gryffindors. His piercing eyes swept over their relaxed positions on the floor, and narrowed further when they reached the sweet wrappers strewn around them. "Most students are scarcely waking, yet here I find you camped out on the doorstep of my dungeons. I'm sure you'll think me rude for asking, but... what the devil are you doing?"

"Waiting for Jezabel," Rose said promptly.

"Jezabel?" Now he genuinely seemed surprised. "Why?"

Albus cleared his throat. "Well, sir... she seemed really upset yesterday, and- and we just wanted to make sure we got the chance to say something to her before we went home for Christmas."

"Hmm, yes... how very sweet." It appeared the truth did not convince him. "Unfortunately, Miss Skirrow has already left, so I'm afraid your words of comfort must wait until January."

Rose did a double-take. " _What?_ But- Professor, how can she have gone already? We thought- it's so early, there's-"

"Surely you two of all students can appreciate why the poor girl should want to expedite the return home after what happened?"

Albus knew he had a valid point. "Y-you're right. Sorry for the outburst, Professor."

Dryden's close-cropped head cocked to one side. "You really were waiting to speak with her, weren't you?" When neither of them replied, he muttered, "Hmm," and turned toward the marble staircase.

"We missed her."

"Sorry, mate," Rose whispered. "This is all my fault, I- maybe we should've gone after her last night. I mean, you're not supposed to put off 'til tomorrow what-"

"No, you were right." The words had already felt bitter in his mouth, even before he said them. He whipped the Marauder's Map back out, more to give him something to do other than feel useless, but it turned out Dryden was not lying; Jezabel had vanished. "She was going to pieces, she needed some time alone."

"Yeah, well, she's got loads of it, now. Merlin's pants, who'd have thought she'd get up at the crack of dawn, too? It's like she knew we were going to do this!"

"Nah... it's just bad luck, that's all."

"The worst of it is," said Rose as they plodded into the Great Hall, "the Slytherins are probably going to get away with this - again. Nothing really changes, does it? They're going to keep on being dungbrains, and keep on playing the same dirty pranks on unsuspecting kids."

" _Not_ the same," he growled. "This is an all-time low. Rose, they took off all her clothes, Body-Bound her and stuck her in below-zero weather like some mad scarecrow, not bothering about if she got frostbite, or died, or- or-"

"Actually, they probably cursed her before taking off her clothes. I was there, Al, I do remember bits and pieces." She pursed her lips as she pulled a glass of orange juice toward her. "One thing I seem to recall is a certain Gryffindor fifth-year jinxing Malfoy instead of helping Jezabel. Let me think, now, who could that have been?"

Albus attempted to hide his pinkening cheeks behind a slice of toast. "Did you have to bring that up?"

o o o

The time finally came for Albus and Rose to hug each other goodbye in Professor Longbottom's office, knowing full well they'd be seeing each other in about a week but dreading the time apart all the same. He watched Rose take a handful of Floo powder and throw it into the fireplace, turning the flames green, then walk calmly inside. Taking a deep breath, she stated clearly, "The Library!" and was gone in a roar of flame and puff of soot.

Hugo followed her, and Lily followed him, her cat struggling in her arms as she disappeared; there were only two more students left in the queue. A mad desire to take action possessed Albus, and he could not shake it. When James tried to shove Albus forward, he whispered, "No, you go on ahead, I'll catch up in a minute."

His brother gave him a quizzical look, but shrugged and took his turn, nodding to their teacher before disappearing as his family had done.

"Professor, I wanted a word."

"Another one, Mr Potter?" Longbottom asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "We'll have to start marking these meetings on our calendars if this keeps up."

Albus laughed before settling himself on the edge of the seat in front of his desk. "It's... it's about the ghosts. I know you're all working hard on this, really, but... I think you should know Rose and I overheard something in the Three Broomsticks..."

Professor Longbottom gave his full attention to Albus's retelling of the dire-sounding whispers in the pub, asking for details occasionally, silent with his hand on his chin most of the time. At last, he said, "Hmm."

"Yeah. Er, I don't know what any of it means, sir, but-"

"Well, no, neither do I exactly. It seems to me they were being intentionally vague, or else you missed something extremely important when Rose, er... coughed, did you say?" The look he gave Albus made it clear he saw through Albus's explanation for the missed words. "But a chimaera? They're fierce, I remember, and quite large, but... perhaps I should have a word with Hagrid about this, he'd be able to tell me more about a chimaera than he ought to know, I'm sure."

They sat in silence for a moment before Albus pushed himself to his feet. "Anyway, sir, I should be getting back to my family."

"Right, of course, I'm sorry," the professor chuckled, rising to see him off. "But thank you for coming to me with this, Albus. Happy Christmas, and-"

"Yes, sir?"

It might have been his runaway imagination up to its old tricks again, but he was sure his Herbology teacher was going to give him some word of warning. Instead, all he said was, "Send my regards to your parents, would you?"

"Of course."

_END Chapter Sixteen_


	17. Not Quite An Uncle

The first sensation that came to Albus after exiting the fireplace was that he was home; the aromas of flowers and cooking, the warmth of the cozy stone kitchen, everything about it. He hadn't expected to feel this strongly about it after a single term away at school, but on some basic level, he had indeed missed his house.

The next sensation that came to Albus was pain.

"Welcome home, Seeker!" his mother sighed into his hair as she hooked her free arm around his neck, inadvertently knocking his head into James's, which was in her other elbow. "You've had an exciting term, haven't you? Oh, it's so good to have my babies home again!"

"And our welcome home present is a goose-egg?" said James as he straightened, rubbing the spot where the brothers had collided.

"Oh, hush. So..." They headed over to the table where Lily and their father were already sitting, Kreacher pushing a mug of cocoa into Lily's hands. "Let's hear what it's like playing on the same team with your sibling - not that I don't know from personal experience, of course."

A pleasant lunch drifted by with the family exchanging news of the past several months, both good and bad. Albus frowned when he received what was quickly becoming an all-too-familiar reaction.

"A Muggle-born Slytherin?" his father breathed. "Blimey..."

"That's what Rose and I said - what everybody says."

"What's she like?" Ginny asked keenly. "There has to be something that's put her in Slytherin House."

Albus was surprised to hear Lily speak up. "Well, she's... you might say she's a bit, er..."

"Spinny," James finished for her.

Albus cast narrowed eyes at his brother. "Oi!"

"She is," he shot back. "Dismal, wispy ickle thing, never talks to anybody. All anyone else knows about her is that they don't see her outside class or the library, and that apparently she doesn't wash often enough. Mental with a capital 'M', you ask me."

"I don't recall anybody asking you," said Albus frostily. "Dad, the girl's not happy there - she hasn't got any friends, the students are always having a go at her, and now she's convinced she'll be asked to leave school. They wouldn't do that, would they?"

Their mother tutted. "Of course not, don't be thick."

"I suspect Draco's boy will be the one asked to leave," their father said. "But then again, if there's anything the Malfoys excel at, it's worming their way out of trouble. Slimy gits." James, Lily and Albus all grinned at each other. "But nevermind that just now - tell me more about what the ghosts have been doing, we're only getting sketchy details down at the office."

Both parents listened in silence as their children divulged all they'd seen and heard about the spirits at Hogwarts' misbehaviour. Their mother gasped when they got to Elizabeth's disheartening night in the second-floor lavatory.

"Not little Elizabeth!"

"Who?" their father asked, taking a drink of his butterbeer.

"Parvati's eldest - that's awful, I'll have to send an owl on..."

"That's very unlike Myrtle," said Harry thoughtfully. "I ran into her many times in my years at Hogwarts, you know, and I can't recall her ever saying anything that cruel. Depressing, without a doubt, but not-"

"She was rather sweet on your father." His wife shot him a would-be reproachful look, except she failed to disguise the smirk lurking underneath. For his part, he coughed into his fist.

"Don't be silly, Ginny, dear."

"Always drifting along after you, peeking at you while you were bathing, the tart-"

"Time for bed, kids!"

James raised an eyebrow. "It's not even two o'clock."

Was that steam gathering on their father's spectacles? "Then... go and unpack, or something!"

o o o

The following days slipped by with hardly any notice. Kreacher could be seen hobbling to and fro, hanging baubles and fairy lights, muttering that he thought them ugly but that Master liked them. Lily and Albus resorted to playing wizard's chess by the fire, a holiday pastime in the Potter household; now and then their father would join them, and he nearly always won. They had tried out a great recipe for egg nog from their grandmother's cookbook, and it was just the thing to sip while reading or chatting.

Early on in their holiday, a question popped into Albus's head and would not leave. He put it off for a while, but eventually it burst forth when he and his father were hanging wreaths on the stuffed, mounted heads of Kreacher's ancestors.

"Why did I give them to you?" his father asked, dumbfounded. "I mean- that is to say- haven't you figured them out yet?"

"Yes, I have," said Albus. "And they're dead useful, the map is brilliant, especially - but why me, and why now? I mean, are you trying to say I'm... I'm too straight-laced or something?"

"No, no, of course not!" said Harry, smiling. "Albus, both of them - the map _and_ the cloak - have belonged to me since I was Lily's age. I wanted to pass them down when the time was right, and I thought it had come."

"Oh... wow, they were yours?"

"They were my father's, even." He was used to the bittersweet reverence in Harry's voice when he spoke of Grandfather Potter, whom neither he nor his brother and sister had never known. "In fact, I could tell you stories about both presents that would turn your head - but another time, perhaps."

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I just don't understand - why didn't you give them to James, then? He's the firstborne."

"Firstbornes don't get everything," his father said dismissively. "Look at Uncle Ron; he was the sixth birth in his family, and he married the brightest witch of her age." When Albus continued to be perplexed, Harry laughed. "Come off it, Al, would _you_ intentionally give any rule-breaking devices to James, who already gets into enough trouble for all three of you?"

Albus suppressed a grin. "No, I guess not."

"Besides... I heard you and Rose talking in the drawing room this past Summer," he whispered. "How you wished you might find a bit of adventure for yourself?"

"What?" His cheeks began to flush - had _that_ been where the creak on the dancers had come from? "That was just a- there's- I was being a prat!"

"No, you weren't. But now I've got the chance, I feel there's something I must say on the matter - come in here a minute."

They had reached the door to the drawing room, and Harry motioned for him to go inside and sit at the old writing desk. When he'd pulled out the chair for himself, his dad perched on the edge of desk and leaned in as if the threadbare tapestry were spying on them.

"Albus," he began meticulously, "I think it important that I tell you that... adventure isn't always what it's cracked up to be."

He struggled not to allow his eyes to return to the curio cabinet. "Oh, believe me, I know. We had a detention in the Forest with Hagrid, and there was this-"

"Detention?" An eyebrow raised. "Whatever for?"

Albus grunted. "Ryan Macmillan was being a git... and it came to blows." For some reason, he was uncomfortable tattling on Rose for throwing the first punch, even though he couldn't see what difference it would make.

"Right... you should know better than that, but you've already been punished, so I suppose I'll pretend I didn't hear about this. What I wanted to say is that I'd like you to be very, very careful about what sort of trouble you get into. Nipping down to the kitchens for some cocoa is one thing, or even into Hogsmeade to restock your sweets - not that I'm endorsing those kind of shenanigans." Was that a wink? "But- well, try and keep yourself out of mortal danger, that's all. D'you understand, son?"

"I think so. Don't worry, the worst I've done so far is going for a late-night swim in the prefect's bath." Again, he thought it wise to leave Rose's name out of it.

"Good, good." His dad smiled warmly. "The last thing I want to hear is that you were daft enough to sneak into the girls' dormitory and one of them's hexed you to death."

His father had taken him by the shoulder and they were both heading for the door when something Hagrid said came back to him. "Dad, that story, about you and Uncle Ron flying the Ford Anglia to school- did that really happen?"

His father's eyebrows inched upward again. "Er, yeah, it did. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

o o o

Christmas Eve dawned bright and cold, bringing the sounds of silver bells around the run-down sidewalks of Grimmauld Place. Albus allowed himself a glorious lie-in, snuggling deep in his warm sheets and grateful that he didn't have to shoot out of bed and make it to class. Then, he heard someone pounding on his door.

"Albie, hurry up, we've got a guest!"

Who else would it be? "Go away, Lils, it's too early," he croaked.

"Mum and Dad say you have to get up! C'mon!"

Swearing under his breath, he slowly dragged himself out of bed and toward his closet, grabbing any old clothes and stuffing himself into them. Taking a quick stab at his uncooperative hair with a comb, he clomped down the stairs and into the entrance hall, where his sleepy brain finally began to work in earnest when it tried to match the face of their visitor to a person his memory and failed.

"Ah, Albus!" his dad said, beaming. "I'd like you to finally meet your, er- what would we call you, an uncle?"

"Close enough, I suppose," the corpulent blonde man said, a kind of modest smile on his mouth.

"Not that the children would've had opportunity to call you anything before," said Ginny accusingly. "We've been trying to have you 'round forever, always some excuse - what was it, a crisis with the workers' union last year?"

"That was the truth!" the man spoke up indignantly, his already-pink face pinkening more. "They were in a right state, I had to see to it! But, about the other times, well... it's strange, that your house can't be seen unless you already know it's there, isn't it? Something only, you know... _your_ lot can do," he hissed conspiriatorily.

"Come off it, it's not like we're still at number four," Harry chuckled. "You can say stuff like 'magic' here, you won't get punished."

"But..." said Albus, clearing his throat when he realised it was still rather dry from sleep. "Don't mean to be rude, but who _is_ this?"

"My God, Harry, he really is a dead ringer for his daddy," the man said, staring down at him with something akin to awe.

"Sorry, Al." His father put a hand on the large guest's large shoulder. "This is your Uncle Dudley - we've mentioned him before, remember?"

"You might have met him sooner, too," muttered Ginny.

Uncle Dudley frowned. "I'm sorry, okay? It's just... it isn't easy, that's all."

"The point is, you're here now," said Harry, cutting off another passive-aggressive comment from their mother. "And now you've built up the nerve, it's not so awful, is it?"

"Well..." Albus could see the man's small eyes peering around at the serpentine chandelier and the umbrella stand made from a troll's leg, and found he could not blame him for being anxious. From what his parents had told him of his father's cousin, the man was a Muggle, and most of his scant encounters with magic had only made him yet warier of it.

"Oh, nevermind that stuff," James spoke up, the first of the three siblings to get over their uncertainty around this stranger. "Relics of a bygone era. 'Course, I've been telling dad the umbrella stand is dead creepy, but he won't give it up - says it reminds him of the old days."

"Clumsy girl," his dad whispered to himself, and Albus noticed Ginny frown sympathetically.

"Honestly, though, it might look a bit dreary in spots, but it's just a house," said Lily. "It can't hurt you, we promise."

"You'll be Lily, won't you?" said Dudley, smiling warmly down at her. "Got your mother's looks, that's a dead cert. He's sent pictures along, of course, every year. Bit of a nasty spot, one day I had to explain to the missus why they're moving, but when I said it was a hologram she seemed satisfied." Harry laughed appreciatively.

"How about a cuppa?" their mum said, thumbing at the hallway. "It's only fair we get to catch up with you, seeing as how you've neglected to come for so-"

"Enough, Ginny!" Their dad laughed harder still. "Overdo it on the guilt and it'll be another twenty years before we see him next!"

As Albus learned over the course of their tea, Dudley Dursley, his first cousin once removed ascending (or 'uncle', which did seem to be a more convenient term), had become something of a bigwig with his company, Trelast's Construction. He'd also married a woman named Pauline and they now had a child of their own, whom they named after his mother-in-law, Dorielle.

"And why aren't they here in person?" Ginny asked sharply.

"About that." He shifted uncomfortably. "Talking about you to them is one thing, and showing them the, er, 'holograms', I've told her you're a holographer by trade, but... Thing of it is, she doesn't know about m-magic, and to bring her here, well..."

"Ahh, that actually makes sense," said Harry. "Didn't think you had that kind of logic in you, Dud."

Their mother sighed. "Have you at least brought pictures of them?"

"Oh, of course!" He fumbled for his wallet, opening it to reveal several photographs of a pale, brown-haired woman with a somewhat vacant expression, and many more of a chubby, rosy-cheeked girl with beautiful golden curls. Albus was reminded forcibly of an over-anxious Hufflepuff third-year.

"What a little angel," Ginny breathed, momentarily forgetting her quarrel with the man.

He positively glowed. "She really is. Mother's always fawning over Dori when she drops by."

"Ah, speaking of which," Harry said, leaning back in his chair, "how are my good Aunt and Uncle?"

"Mmm..." Dudley's smile slipped a notch. "Don't suppose you heard, but Father's just got out of the hospital."

Everyone started, and their father gasped, "Really?"

"Triple-bypass surgery, you know - the old ticker." He frowned into his tea. "The doctor says he needs to relax, find a healthy way to deal with stress, but he's retired now, and with no way to keep busy... well, you know Dad."

"Yeah," said Harry ruefully. "How's Petunia taking this?"

"Not calmly, but she's keeping well enough. By the by..." He now seemed yet more uncomfortable, setting his teacup down on the table. "Mum's asked me to pass a message on to you."

Their father suddenly seemed very interested. "What's that?"

"Er... well, she says she found an old book of yours, under the floorboard of your room... 'Holidays With Hags', I think it was? She says if I should see you to ask if you wanted to come around and pick it up."

"Ahh." His bright-green eyes rolled. "Tell her she can chuck it in the fireplace if she wants. Or... no, I'll come and get it sometime."

"All right." The itchy silence hung over them for several moments before James broke it.

"So tell us about the time old Hagrid gave you a piggy tail - bet that was a riot, eh?"

 _"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER!"_ both of his parents shouted.

James's brow furrowed over his glasses. "What, what'd I say?"

"Er, y-yes," their uncle stammered, rising to his feet, "I sup- suppose I'll be going, now. Nice t-to have met-"

"Come off it, Dudley, don't pay any attention to James," said their father, glaring down at his eldest son. "You ought to stay for dinner, you know, Ginny's made an excellent pudding that'll-"

"No, no," he said, more calmly now (though his face was still quite crimson). "Actually, I told the wife that I've just stepped out to buy a last-minute gift, so I should be getting back. But it was... it was nice to see you again," he said earnestly.

Harry smiled. "Bet you never thought you'd say that, eh?" His cousin grinned sheepishly.

"Maybe we'll come by your house next year," their mother said as they ascended the stairs. "Would save you the trouble of explaining the wizarding world to your family."

"I'd appreciate it," he gusted. "Mostly because I wouldn't even know where to start."

They all shook hands with the distant relation - he tousled Lily's hair in what he seemed to think was an affectionate way that left her looking quite disheveled - before he buttoned up his bulky overcoat and pulled a woolen cap low over his ears. As he reached the doorway, Dudley reached into his pocket and withdrew a package that Albus felt sure to be a bottle.

"A nice Pinot Noir," he told Harry in a low voice, trying not to glance in the direction of the children - though Albus could still hear him, being the closest. "To go with your turkey. Don't know if you'll be needing it - might be able to make it yourself." He mimed a wand-swishing movement with his hand, and their father grinned.

"Actually, we can't do that with food and drink - it's a kind of rule. Thanks, Dud, this'll be great."

And with one last "Happy Christmas," Dudley tromped outside and down the steps. They watched from the window as he stopped farther down the street, no doubt watching their magically-concealed house shrink into nothing - he shook his large head, then disappeared into the snowy city.

o o o

Christmas morning at the Potters' followed a set of traditions put in place as early as any of them could remember. Kreacher made them a Full English followed by delicious fruit cakes with marzipan, clotted cream and real holly berries, which are slightly toxic (Harry had insisted that they not put him off this, as it was one of the few ways the wizened elf displayed any Christmas spirit, so they hid them in their napkins or Transfigured them into cranberries when he wasn't looking). Then they gathered around the tinsel-topped fir in the entrance hall and opened their mountains of presents, marvelling (or laughing) at their contents. Albus himself received a handsome new set of brass scales from his parents, a large box of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans from Lily, a mince pie and a blue jumper with the letter "A" embroidered on the front in gold from Grandmum and Granddad Weasley, one large tin of treacle fudge from Hagrid (which was actually very tasty if you softened it up in your tea for a while), a broom-servicing kit from Uncle Ron, and a bright-green woolen cap with rosebuds patterned all over it from Aunt Hermione and Rose ("Revenge", the card said, and he snorted).

Once they'd cleared away most of the wrappings and Albus was going up to put away his gifts, James caught him up just outside his bedroom door.

"Hey, Al, er... d'you have half a mo'?"

He regarded this sudden interest warily. "I might."

James took a deep breath as if steeling himself for something wholly unpleasant. "I wanted to offer you a trade."

"What sort of trade?"

"My Firebolt for yours."

They stared at each other, the sounds of Lily laughing with their parents reaching their ears faintly. After a long moment, Albus cleared his throat and said, "Come again?"

"Thing of it is, Al, you're Seeker now. I'm used to Dad's old Firebolt, it won't take me any time at all to readjust, but... well, a wizard playing Seeker needs the fastest broom on the team, doesn't he? Only makes sense, really, and - I mean, hell, it's Christmas."

Of all the things that could come out of his brother's mouth, this was the last sort of offer Albus had been expecting - the list was topped by propositions like "your owl for this bit of lint," or "your savings for a fist in the mouth". The idea was wild, unprecedented - and yet his reasons were logical. He was doing it for the team, not because he'd grown a heart overnight. The thought of owning - or at least borrowing - the hands-down finest racing broom ever whittled by wizardkind shot a thrill through every pore of his body.

However, Albus said, "Thanks, James - I mean it, really - but... I don't think so."

"What?" He gritted his teeth. "Listen, you little blighter, I offer you the ride of a lifetime, that I've been saving every Knut since-"

"I know," he sighed. "And... seriously, it looks and sounds like the greatest broomstick known to man, no question. But... well, I like Dad's old model, and... and I haven't got much of a chance with it, yet. You've had it from your second year on, and now it's my turn with the legacy." He looked away, off toward a bit of garland hanging from the railing. "Bet that sounds stupid."

He waited for James to start laughing at him, but to his complete shock, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Not at all, shorty - I felt the same when he first let me borrow it, too. But if we lose to Hufflepuff cos you weren't flying fast enough to nab the Snitch, you'll be the one answering to Wood, not me."

"Yeah, well, of course."

As Albus watched his brother climb the steps to his room, he had the strangest sensation they were _both_ smiling, even though they didn't know why.

_END Chapter Seventeen_


	18. The Burrow Bonfire

_"There's_ the man of the hour!"

Harry looked first to his left, then his right. "Who d'you mean?"

"Who did you think we meant, Celestina Warbeck?" George Weasley laughed, clapping him on the back. "It's all anybody can talk about, y'know - bringing in the Carrows after all these years, a right feather in your cap, isn't it?"

The man smiled nervously. "But- give over, it was all in the name of-"

"Now, now, don't be modest," George's father said as he approached from off to Harry's left, his heavy Coke-bottle glasses glinting in the light from the bonfire. "It's not every day we round up the very last of the Death Eaters, is it?"

Albus happily scanned the scene, all of the heady discomfort from Side-Along Apparation with his mother forgotten; the Burrow Bonfire was evidently just beginning. Dearly though he loved his grandparents' house, with its teetering turrets and cozy kitchen, there was no denying its incapability to afford a party of a larger number than eleven or twelve. Therefore, it had been suggested long ago that they spark up a roaring pyre in the garden, enchant it to distribute heat more evenly over the whole affair and set the tables up outside. Albus had always enjoyed these Christmas bonfires, and it was one of his most favourite things about this time of year.

"Wotcher, Al," said Rose, eyes twinkling in the glow of the logs. "How's your Yule been?"

"Decent," he replied. "You'd never believe who showed up on our doorstep yesterday."

By the time he'd got through telling her about Dudley Dursley's unexpected visit, a few more witches and wizards had Apparated or flown in on brooms, and the party was grinding into motion; Albus idly watched his grandmother bustling about, tending to the fire and catching snippets of conversation as she popped in and out of the kitchen where her customary feast was simmering.

"What a funny bloke," Rose mused. "'Course, Grandmum and Grandpa Granger are all right, but I guess most Muggles can't accept the world of magic as easily."

"Apparently not. But enough about him - good haul this year?"

"Not bad," she said, popping a Fizzing Whizbee into her mouth and offering him one, which he took. "Loved the Pocket Sneakoscope, mate, thanks. The new broom I wanted didn't come, but I didn't expect it to, really. Did get a brand new travelling cloak, though; no more drafty hole for this Weasley!"

"Speaking of cloaks," he began in a low voice around the tingling candy, "it turns out the one I gave you was some kind of heirloom."

"What d'you mean?"

"It was Grandpapa Potter's - the map, too."

She cocked her head to one side as she floated a few inches above the grass. "Wait, so... so you're the third generation to have this stuff?"

"At least." His brow furrowed as he joined her in the air. "I wonder why Dad didn't tell me before? He said they had stories but he wouldn't spill, like I was too young or something. That was a nasty tease, too, now he's got me all curious! Oh, well."

For some reason, he noted she was gnawing at the ends of her hair. "Hmm..."

"Hey, did you get any of that fudge from Hagrid?"

"Is _that_ what it is?" An exasperated laugh escaped her throat as she touched down again. "I thought we'd be needing sticky, brownish bricks for Care of Magical Creatures and he was hoping to get us prepared beforehand!"

It was right about then he felt his enthusiasm begin to wane; as usual, the crowd immediately gravitated toward his father, asking him for details of his duels with one criminal or another, or else milking him for advice on ousting some Dark creature that had taken up residence in their vegetable patch. It didn't take long for Rose to pull him from the clog of bodies, for which he was grateful.

"Wouldn't want to keep you from reflected fame, but... how about something to warm up your innards?"

"Dad's holding court again," Albus gusted as they made for a nearby table where the punchbowl was set up. "I hate it when people do this."

"I know, mate, I know. Here," she said, pushing a goblet into his hands. The sensual feel of the elderflower wine mingling with the zest of orange and lemon instantly flooded him with warmth, and he began to feel more at ease.

"Cheers, Rose."

"Eh." Then she looked sideways at him. "Hey, why aren't you wearing the cap?"

"What cap?"

"The beautiful, one-of-a-kind cap my mother knitted you," she pressed, trying to look offended. "Don't you like it at all?"

His mouth twitched. "You're a dingbat, that's what you are."

"Albus," said Tranquilius Thomas as he approached the table, Rose still laughing at Albus's reaction to her little joke. "How has your Christmas been?"

"Pretty good, thanks - yours?"

"Rather disappointing," he said with his usual unnerving honesty. "I was sure I'd get a Fleekledurng cocoon, I've been hinting at it for ages."

"A what?" Rose asked before Albus could stop her.

"A Fleekledurng cocoon. Oh, they're the most mysterious butterflies, very rare - they have rainbow-coloured legs and their wings have old adages patterened in runes, like 'Wherever You Go, There You've Apparated'. If you can hatch one and raise it to maturity, it will bring you Knuts people have left on the ground for miles around. They can be quite profitable if you keep them for a long while."

"Er, they sound great," lied Albus, privately thinking there was a sturdier chance of him scraping a date with Madam Chang than this Fleekledurng existing. "Too bad you didn't get it."

"Yes, it is - I suppose Mum couldn't find any. Oh look, there's Ouida - I told her to come if she could make it."

"You go make nice," Albus muttered, and Tranky worked on composing his features as he approached the woman of his dreams.

"Hope she knows what she's getting herself into," Rose laughed. Albus shook his head.

"For Tranky's sake, I hope she doesn't."

Eventually, the fervour over the great Harry Potter's arrival died away, and the celebration began in earnest, especially as more and more guests were arriving. In that time, Albus had seen Uncle Percy and Aunt Penelope show up with Barty in tow, in addition to the Thomases, Uncle Charlie Weasley from way down in Romania, Hagrid, Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, the Delacours (Aunt Fleur's parents from France), Aunt Fleur's sister Gabrielle and her husband Lamont, Andromeda Tonks, Professor Longbottom (dressed in rather a snappier set of robes than usual), and Cousin Teddy and Cousin Victoire, whom had an announcement to make.

"Take a gander at zis!" Victoire called out, holding her elegant right hand up in the firelight, where a diamond of alarming size shone like a beacon.

"You've finally done it!" Grandmum Weasley squealed, rushing forward and throwing her arms around both her and Teddy. "You popped the bleeding question at last, oh good heavens, great-grandchildren, I thought I'd reach one hundred before it happened!"

"Oi, no pressure, eh?!" Teddy gagged nervously from just over her shoulder.

"Please, take your time!" Uncle Bill called over everyone's heads. "I'm in no hurry to feel _that_ old!"

"My dear, sweet boy," Andromeda sighed, her dark, heavy-lidded eyes brimming with tears as she stroked his hair, which was turning from brown to pink. "You can't know what it means to me to see you happy."

"Thanks, Gran," he whispered, grinning up at her.

"It's utterly mad," James was saying to Barty in an undertone as they watched Harry wring Teddy's hand emphatically. "They're cousins!"

"Not truly," Barty whispered back. "The only reason we call him 'Cousin' Teddy is because your father is his godfather - but really, he and Aunt Andromeda are only very distantly related to us, separated by something like five generations, so you see-"

"All right, all right, I get it," he muttered, looking over. "Still weird. Al, if you and Rose are next-"

"Oh, for the last time, will you kindly let it go, you spaz?!" Albus growled.

By the time nearly everyone had congratulated one or both of the newly-engaged couple, the general consensus stated that they were all starving, so Grandmum Weasley magically brought out the turkey, pheasant, suckling pig and dish after dish of things that made Albus's mouth water. As they all sat around the fire in wooden chairs that somehow felt like overstuffed poufs, plates piled high with tantallising morsels, Albus found he was seated between Rose and Professor Longbottom.

"I've heard the raids are becoming fewer and farther between, Arthur, is that right?"

"It is," Granddad Weasley nodded to a man with a bristling grey moustache Albus did not know. "You know, I think the wizarding community is finally starting to regard our department with a modicum of respect. Why, last week the worst I had was a shrinking car key, and even that was pretty feeble - only reduced its size by ten per cent."

"So," Albus whispered to his professor, "any news?"

"What? Oh!" Neville smiled with sudden realisation. "Not really. Working on it, of course - but I couldn't miss this, not with the astounding food Molly cooks up."

"Can't blame you, there," said Uncle George from his left, a fork covered in cranberry sauce halfway to his mouth. "Might head into a pub instead if not for the spread at the homestead."

"George!" his mother admonished him, tossing a brussels sprout at him from several seats along.

"Only joking, Mum, no need to attack with greens!"

"The Bluebottle broommakers are under scrutiny now, of course," Uncle Percy was telling Uncle Charlie, though the latter looked as if he'd prefer to be standing in the bonfire. "After a dozen recalls, who should think there'd be any other option? We can't allow our women and children to ride something that falls apart inches from the ground!"

"Our attention falls apart inches into his droning," Uncle Ron confided in Uncle Bill, just loud enough so everyone except Percy could hear him. Rose snickered.

Albus was halfway through his second helping when Minister For Magic Shacklebolt, a tall, bald man with deep brown skin and a golden hoop in his ear dropped in for a brief visit. Many of the other witches and wizards expressed surprise or anxiety, but most of the Weasley clan took it in stride, having met him several times before. In fact, Uncle George was keen to tell him that the Minister had once stood in this very spot with his father, scant moments after they had flown through a dozen Death Eaters, curses flashing back and forth.

"Of course, not all of us were lucky enough to escape unharmed," he said, thumbing at the scarred hole on the side of his head. "Even so, at least I'm 'ear', aren't I?"

Albus, Rose and Professor Longbottom groaned. In fact, Longbottom began to groan louder, then said, "Ooh, I'm not sure these beetroots are agreeing with me - have a bit of a sensitive stomach for them, you know, should've known better than- oogh! Excuse me, I-" And with that he clapped a hand to his mouth, shot an apologetic look at Albus's grandmother, and bolted from the circle.

"George, lad," Granddad spoke up, perhaps hoping to draw attention away from the possibility that his wife's cooking had made someone sick. "When are you going to let me get you a, er, 'prostetric'? The Muggles use them all the time to replace missing parts. Maybe we can't grow your ear back, but perhaps I could even bewitch it to move like the real thing, could be-"

"I told you, Dad, I'm already accustomed," he said flatly. "Seriously, I'm so used to not having two ears now that if you went and stuck a fake one on, I'd probably lean to one side like this."

Everyone was so busy laughing at his over-animated portrayal of himself with a two-tonne prosthetic ear that they were unaware of the arrival of yet another guest. It was Albus who first noticed, and hissed, "I don't believe it."

"What, not leaning far enough?" George chortled.

"What's _he_ doing here?!"

James was the first to follow his line of sight, and when he saw what Albus saw, he gusted, "Criminy."

"Eve, Potter," said Draco Malfoy evenly, cold grey eyes untouched by the bemused smile he presented to the others gaping at him. "Coming to pay our repsects to the greatest wizard of our time, and his, er... family."

"Malfoy," said Harry woodenly. "And dear Pansy, too, how have you both been keeping?"

"Well enough," Draco's wife tittered, a saccharine, false joy in her words. "It's been a goodly year for us all, hasn't it?"

"Yes, the word on the street is that you've brought in Amycus and Alecto." As the man sat in one of four rigid chairs he'd magically drawn up next to Harry and his spouse sat beside him, Albus had an even better view of their two children. Scorpius, he knew well enough to wish he didn't, but the small girl with light-brown pigtails was unfamiliar to him; she didn't seem to be of Hogwarts age, yet. "Unassisted, is that right?"

"Well, old Matthias was backing me up," said Albus's father conversationally, evidently having decided he wanted nothing more than for the Malfoys to intrude on their celebration. "Doesn't hurt to have a seasoned veteran like him at your side, does it?"

"Hmm, indeed - though I think we can safely guess the daring capture was more Saint Potter's doing."

"And how's old Lucius?" Granddad asked, smiling frostily. "Nearly ten years a free man, that has to weigh rather light on a man's spirit."

"Alas, poor Father has taken ill," Draco sighed, frowning and adjusting one of the gold buttons on his travelling cloak. "Nasty bout of Vanishing Sickness - he said he'd like to come along for our visit, but I daresay there wouldn't be much point if you couldn't see him, now, would there?"

Everyone ventured a hesitant giggle, unsure whether or not this was meant to be a joke, but the Malfoys laughed sardonically as well, and though the tension never truly broke it lessened considerably.

"Hefty brass Bludgers tha' idiot's got," Hagrid muttered down to Lily, a tankard of mulled mead hiding his mouth from the gatecrashers. "Comin' here ter a crowd full o' people who'd as soon hang 'im as shake 'is hand."

"Dad saved his life," she whispered back, rubbing at her earlobe. "He feels obligated."

"But why are we obligated to oblige his obligation?" George said nastily.

"Er... we'll get back to you when we've worked out whatever you just said," said Rose, and they all laughed.

A certain amount of high-speed gibberish reached their ears, and Albus noticed Ouida Rousselot, Tranky's potential steady, had stumbled upon the Delacours, who all quickly fell to speaking rapid French and isolating all nearby from their conversation. After a moment, Aunt Fleur, Lamont and Gabrielle also joined in, and their tongues flew faster than ever. Tranky looked distinctly put out about this development.

"Of course, Aunt Andromeda," Draco was saying stiffly. "And we have been meaning to have you around to see your grandniece and nephew, but things are always so-"

"Yes, yes, I understand plainly," she said, absolutely the thinnest smile on her lips. "An estranged relation requires a special welcome mat, and you've misplaced yours, have you?"

"Don't be silly!" said Pansy shrilly, glancing at Draco warily before adding, "You're invited any time you wish - a Boxing Day brunch, perhaps?"

Then Albus noticed Scorpius frowning around at the scene, apparently surly at having been forced to come here and abandon a quiet Nöel at Malfoy Manor. Sneering, he whispered something to his mother, whom nodded impatiently before returning to smiling poisonously at whatever Albus's mother was now telling her. Scorpius immediately rose and slipped away from the bonfire, heading toward the old shed Granddad liked to tinker around in. His sense of foreboding immediately began nibbling at the nape of his neck, and after a few seconds, he tapped Rose on the shoulder.

"Where d'you suppose old Pugface is off to?"

"How should I know?" she whispered. "Maybe he wants to lock himself in and never come out - that'd be the perfect Christmas gift to all of us."

"I'm gonna go check up on him," he hissed, placing his plate securely under his chair and pacing silently around the backs of his friends and family, arriving at last at the doors to the shed. With one quick glance over at the flickering party, he eased the door open and walked inside.

The walls were covered in shelves, and the shelves were covered in every odd knicknack imaginable; plugs, batteries, an electric torch, a rubber duck, a television remote, a stack of Muggle coins, an instant coffee maker that rattled ominously, boxes of matches, and even a personal compact disc player, into which his grandfather had innocently forced a beermat. It took his eyes a moment to navigate this junk and find Scorpius hunched over a table, sections of his white-blonde head illuminated in the moonlight coming through the mismatched boards that formed the shed's walls.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Scorpius spun around, clutching an automobile's oil filter in one hand as if ready to chuck it at him. His other hand was withdrawing from his pocket.

"What have you taken?"

"Nothing, you git," he spat at him, lowering the filter. "Like there's anything in here _worth_ taking - it's all a bunch of Muggle rubbish. Most of it doesn't even do anything - like this thing here, it only gets your hands filthy. What use is that?"

"It goes to a car," said Albus impatiently. "I saw it in the one in the Forest. Anyway, I don't think Granddad would appreciate you poking around his workshop."

"A workshop, is it? This collection of refuse?" Scorpius tossed the filter carelessly over his shoulder, where it banged into something else on the table. "There, I put it back."

"You stupid, callous little worm," Albus spat. "And you've got some nerve, by the way, showing up here after what you did to Jezabel - you ought to be in Azkaban!"

"What I did to- wait, wait." To Albus's supreme annoyance, he was almost laughing now. "How's this got anything to do with the Mistake?"

Albus smiled cheerlessly. "Oh, that wasn't you, then? That stuck her out in the snow? Don't give me that bilge, I saw you having a great laugh with Genevieve, you twerp!"

"Why do _you_ care, Prying Potter? Is she-" His eyes widened with glee. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Had he been any less furious, that comment may have made him blush. "She's not my doormat, how's that? You pranked her before, when you told her to go to Madame Puddifoot's - that note she got had your handwriting on!"

"Been playing the detective, have we, Albiekins?" the boy laughed, leaning back against the table and folding his arms. "Rescuing your filthy Mudblood damsel in distress? Well, you can save your breath - obviously, we both know I did that to her in Hogsmeade, but you're wrong about my turning her into an ice lolly. The honour there belongs to Zach, and it was brilliant, too."

"Zach," Albus said blankly. "Hang on - Zacharias Travers? But- but why?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. He says she was annoying him somehow, I don't remember. Who cares? It was a riot - probably have done it myself if I thought of it."

"You- this- just a- I can't-"

A single pale eyebrow inched upward. "What was that your beloved cousin said to me about teaching English to trolls? Looks like your charm is wearing off, Dimbus."

_"I ought to snap your splinching-"_

"Temper, temper, boys."

They spun to see Professor Longbottom in the doorway to the shed, his lit wandtip shining on them and a handkerchief pressed to his mouth.

"Professor!" Scorpius squeaked, standing at attention as if the Queen had just walked in. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Well, I _was_ retching the contents of my stomach behind this shed," he said, eyes narrowing at him. "You might have noticed there are gaps in these boards, yes? I could hear every word you two were saying."

Sensing imminent doom, Scorpius acted quickly. "Then you heard Potter here threaten me with bodily harm, didn't you, sir?"

"I heard him say he ' _ought'_ to harm you - not that he was going to. I also heard you name your fellow Slytherin as the perpetrator of that most unfortunate prank on Miss Skirrow, and I can assure you he will be punished when he gets back to Hogwarts. Incidentally, I'm inclined to agree with Albus - in light of such mistreatment of your classmates, I really should let him snap whatever he was going to snap. Lucky for you, I'm of a peaceful sort."

Albus couldn't stop grinning. Professor Longbottom looked grimly triumphant, while Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed as if he wanted to take over vomiting behind the shed. It was as if they'd suddenly achieved an unprecedented checkmate.

"But- that isn't- this is entrapment! You can't come in here and-"

"Save it, Malfoy - and you ought to crack a dictionary now and again. In the meantime, you'd better rejoin your parents before I do something _you'll_ regret."

Seething, the young Slytherin shoved his way past Albus and the professor, glancing back at them as he slipped through the door.

"P-Professor," Albus spluttered, laughing almost more as a release than with sheer delight, "you- you came in, and- and- that was bloody brilliant!"

"Had to be done, didn't it?" But Albus noticed him wink at him. "But you really should try harder to master that short fuse, son, could get you in a lot of trouble."

"I will, sir."

"Now, let's you and I get back to the festivities," he said, placing his hand on Albus's shoulder and leading him after Scorpius. "My stomach's feeling much better, and perhaps there'll be a few wizarding crackers left...?"

_END Chapter Eighteen_


	19. The Re-Sorting

It seemed to Albus that no time at all passed between Christmas Night at the Burrow and the day after New Year's, but there he was, all packed and again standing before the fireplace in Number Twelve, preparing to hop the Floo into Hogwarts. He found himself in a funny sort of way - not quite ready to leave, but at the same time anxious to get back.

"Don't forget to keep us up on your news," his mother said, kissing Lily on the cheek while tousling his hair. "And make sure you knock the stuffing out of Hufflepuff for us!"

"Will do," James laughed. "The Potter Brothers shan't be defeated!"

Her cheeks glowed with pride. "That's what I like to hear!"

"Be good," Father said, giving Albus a meaningful look. He winked, preferring not to say anything for fear of letting on there was a secret shared between them.

"After you, Al," said James, smirking.

"Fine. See you in the Summer!" Tossing a pinch of powder under the mantle, he walked into the green flames and, taking a last look at his parents, said clearly, "Professor Longbottom's Office at Hogwarts!"

An eternity passed as he spun through time and space to arrive on the floor of Professor Longbottom's office, his stomach feeling as if he'd left it in his other cloak. Brushing soot from his knees, he looked up to see Rose standing next to the professor, and had to do a double-take.

"Rose, your- oh, not again!"

"Nice to see you, too," she said flatly. "What's nibbling at your nose, mate?"

"Purple this time, eh?" he asked, batting at the exact same bit of fringe she had magically dyed before. "Can't you settle to anything?"

Her eyebrows knitted angrily. "If you don't leave off fussing about my hair, I'll give _you_ a purple-"

"If you two could move it along," hissed Longbottom, indicating the two or three other Gryffindors trying to get around where they were blocking the exit. They both whispered apologies before hurrying into the corridor beyond.

"Will you ever stop taking the mickey out of me for stuff like this?" she growled as soon as they were a goodly distance from the door. "Like the bathing costume - what does it matter if it's the most horrid thing in creation?"

"It doesn't," he sighed, knowing early on that he wasn't going to win this one. "Sorry, okay? You don't have to cry about it."

"I am _not_ cry-"

"Shh, wait!"

"Don't tell m-"

_"Listen!"_

When she fell silent, they heard two hushed voices come into sharp relief against the quiet hallway. Holding his finger to his lips needlessly, he led her over to another door a short way along, straining to pick up as many words as possible.

"Not as easy... there's no _way..._ like that; it's _far..._ a thing to do, and I... anything... hope for."

"But _really,_ you can't expect... notice! This... for many.... not likely to... again!"

"Hang on," Rose breathed, reaching into her schoolbag for the somewhat-trusty Extendable Ears, but at the very same moment the voices got much, much louder.

"We are agreed, then?" said the first voice.

"I suppose so," said the second grudgingly. "I've no more objections."

Changing tack entirely, Rose fished out the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over both of them scant seconds before the door burst open, revealing Professors Dryden and Flitwick. Both teachers glanced nervously up and down the corridor before setting off in the same direction, which turned out to be downstairs. When they had disappeared from view, Rose pulled the Cloak off and replaced it in her bag, looking over at him curiously.

"What do you reckon _that_ was about?"

"Search me - could have been the price of newt's eyes in Norway, for all we heard. Blimey, what a note to start the term on, eh?"

"Yeah," she gusted as they moved off toward the staircase that would take them up toward Gryffindor Tower. "Bugger it all, don't we have enough to worry about, what with the Slytherins and the ghosts and Peele and Dryden, that now Dryden is conspiring with _Flitwick_ about something? And we've got O.W.L.s coming up!"

They reached the purchase of their common room, where a goodly number of students were already swapping tales of their holidays. They lingered for a short while, chatting with Martin Finnigan and Aqua Rankin about the miserable amount of homework they had to do over break and why the Kenmare Kestrels hadn't the remotest chance of winning the league this year before heading up to get settled back into their bunks.

"Oi, Bulbous Potter!" Ryan Macmillan barked at him from across their room. "The word about the castle is that you and Professor Longbottom caught Scorpius Malfoy and tortured some big confession out of him. That true?"

"Sure, it's true. Want to make something of it?"

"Not at all, not at all. Wanted to be the first to congratulate you if it was, actually. So, did you and the Potties have a happy Christmas?"

"It was spectacular, Ryan." Albus grimaced as he stowed the gifts he'd brought with him and left his schoolbag on the nightstand; he was in too pleasant a mood to dally with this very long. "Two weeks without looking at your dial - everybody should know what that feels like, might bring peace to all shores."

He laughed. "Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? Unless you were in Rose's, of which every side has _got_ to be-"

"Yeah, yeah, what a master of the funny you are. If you'll excuse me, I've got other places to be where the hostility isn't so open."

"Hey-"

But Albus swept from the room, nostrils flaring. Why couldn't that irksome dimwit let him have just a few moments to breathe before he started in on him? However, what he saw when he reached the bottom of the stairs soon made yet another encounter with Ryan a distant memory.

Everyone was talking at once, in all corners and areas of the common room. He scanned the faces; Elizabeth Larkins was nearly in tears, Caspian Lewis looked perplexed, and Lily, Kayla Sylvanus and Tanith Moon were whispering so feverishly at each other a second-year at a nearby table started scanning the floor for wild snakes. Albus picked his way over to where James and Olivia Wood were standing together, shaking their heads at it all.

"What's up?"

"Not really sure," said James slowly. "Longbottom's told us he's got something to say, and that we're supposed to hang around the common room until he comes back and says it. Hope he's not long."

"What's all this?" Rose had appeared behind them.

"Wait for the memo," James snapped.

"Apparently, we've been told Longbottom's going to make a big announcement," Olivia told her more kindly.

Minutes crawled by, nearly building into half an hour before the portrait swung open and the round face of their Head of House poked itself in, flashing a nervous smile at the impatient students. Albus couldn't help but think he would rather not tell them anything, but that duty kept him from backing out.

"All right, everyone, settle down," he called, and it didn't take long for the room to become more or less quiet. "This really shouldn't take long, and then you can commence to gossiping about what I've just said for a while before supper. Now-"

"Is it the ghosts?!" Brunhilda shouted into the room, as if she were unable to restrain herself.

"No, Miss Vane," he replied patiently. "Actually, they have been acting rather strangely, but there've been no more harmful incidents, if that's what you mean."

"Has Peeves attacked the Headmast-"

"Not twice in one year, no, Creevey. Now, if I might be allowed to speak, as I _am_ the teacher, here?" There was a moment's pause as he glared around at them, torn between outrage and amusement. "Right, then. Firstly, I ought to tell you the new password, as you'll be needing it from tomorrow - it's 'Trevor'. The Head Boy's known about it for a week now, so if you happen to forget you can always ask him."

Barty waved importantly from near the fireplace.

"Secondly, most of you may not have heard yet, but Headmistress Sprout has returned."

 _"All right!"_ a sixth-year shouted, and everyone else laughed and clapped.

"My sentiments exactly," said Longbottom, beaming. "They'll be making a formal announcement during supper, of course, but I thought I'd just as soon tell you all while I've got you. Professor Weasley has agreed to stay on for a few more weeks to help tutor the O.W.L. students in Charms, and after that Professor Flitwick will be at the reins again."

"You could use some tutoring," Ryan muttered from behind them. Albus aimed an elbow at his midsection, which he sidestepped with a quiet chuckle.

"And thirdly," Longbottom sighed, the lines at the corners of his eyes somehow becoming more pronounced, "though it's practically never been done, we have ourselves a transfer." Though the room immediately broke out into murmurs, he spoke over them. "Yes, yes, I know it's uncommon, especially partly through the year like this. However, there's something that must be made explicitly clear to you, because if I hear of anyone disregarding what I am about to say, they may just find themselves on the first train home."

Everyone was now deathly still.

"You are to welcome this transfer with the warmth and openness I've come to expect from my Gryffindors - treat them decently, respectfully, help with the transition. And just in case one of you thinks themselves smart, no, I wasn't at all codding you before about expulsion - make things harder on our new student, and I'll bodily remove you from the castle myself."

Nodding in Albus's direction, then in Barty's, he turned and headed out of the portrait hole without so much as a "farewell".

"A new student?!" Hugo squealed from nearby at the exact same time as at least a dozen other Gryffindors. "But- but that's absurd, Hogwarts doesn't let children waltz right in, halfway through the year!"

"It is dodgy," James concurred. "I don't remember ever hearing about someone coming to school who wasn't Sorted as a first-year. What are they playing at?"

Rose's hair was at her lips again. "D'you think they're from another school? Y'know, like Beauxbatons? Aunt Fleur went there."

"Maybe," said Albus thoughtfully. "Could be interesting to have a foreign exchange student, I suppose."

"Wait, do Uncle Lamont and Aunt Gabrielle have any part-veelas of their own?" Lily mused. "They could be school-age - what if they're moving here?"

The hypotheses flew hard and heavy between everyone who had been privy to this meeting for several hours, but eventually the majority seemed to decide they didn't know anything and let it drop. Albus, for his part, was heartened that there had been no further hauntings or attacks.

"Nobody was here over Christmas, though," said Rose. "Even Professor Longbottom left for the bonfire."

"But some students stayed behind, didn't they? Personally, I'd rather think the perpetrator has given up his life of phantom-controlling."

"That's not realistic, though - why give up when nobody's caught you at it?"

"Must you be devil's advocate all the time?" he shot at her as they at last tromped into the Great Hall, nodding at Wendelyne Moore as she flashed him a somewhat toothier smile than usual. "Are my hunches so far-fetched that you can't accept one at face-val- val... you have got to be kidding."

"Eh?"

Just a few students were already seated at the Gryffindor House table, but one of them appeared to be of a rather small stature, for only the very top of their black hair was visible above the tabletop. What they could see of it was shivering.

"We haven't got a goblin coming to Hogwarts," said Rose in disbelief. "I mean, d'you think that's why Longbottom wanted to make sure we didn't badger him too much? Cos he'd get all his goblin mates to come and rough up-"

"Rose," he whispered as they came to the table. Scraping the bench across the floor and making enough noise to cause the other students to cover their ears, Albus squatted down to look under and across at who the scalp belonged to. "That's no goblin... that's a banshee."

She joined him in crouching and gasped when she recognised Jezabel Skirrow, sitting as low in her seat as possible without sliding completely under the table. Unfortunately, she did just that when she spotted them watching her, landing with a thump and a quiet, "Ouch!"

"Er, Jezzy," Rose began tentatively, "why, er, that is... have you gone mental?"

"Translating from the cretin," said Albus through clenched teeth, "I think sweet Rosie means something like 'why are you hiding under here'?"

"I can't... I can't... I can't..."

He sighed, inching further under. "C'mon, let's get you back up onto the-"

Jezabel's mantra gained speed as she began rocking back and forth, bottom lip trembling. "I can't I can't I can't I c-"

"What's the matter with you?" Rose demanded. "They don't force you to eat if you don't want, you can always-"

"Merlin's mouldy pants, d'you see this?"

"All I see is a wacko," she hissed in his ear.

"Her robes, you prat!"

Before that moment, he had overlooked the crest on her threadbare robes because it was so familiar to him by now. This, as it turned out, was the very thing that was so strange - for where he had been expecting to see the silver serpent against a green background of Slytherin House, he saw the very same golden lion set in red that was on the front of his own uniform.

"That's not..." Rose glanced from her uniform to Albus, then to what was visible of Jezabel's face, then back to her robes. "Where'd you get that?"

"F... from Professor Longbottom," she whispered fearfully.

"But why would you want it? Honestly, it's not like wearing it's going to fool people into-"

"Oh, hurry up and put two and two together, will you?" Albus snapped impatiently. "Can't you see _she's_ the transfer?"

"She's the- what? But she's already been here for five years, it's not- oh, wait... oh. _Oh!_ "

Rose slapped a hand over her mouth, pulling herself right under the table and sitting down cross-legged. "But... but forget transferring, this is changing your House! Your House is- that's never been done before, ever! Once the Hat decides, you are where you are and that's that, end of story!"

"I guess there were a few pages left to this one," said Albus dully.

"Please, I'm begging you, keep it down," Jezabel gasped. "As soon as they find out they'll come for me, I don't want them to come, don't want them to lynch me like that, don't- I'll go back to Slytherin, I promise I'll be good there, just don't let them chuck me out!"

"Jezabel, let's get out of here."

She was silent for a moment, apparently shocked at this idea. "I- they'll see me, and I don't want to be seen, I- I- and supper's already started, and I was told to be here, they said I had to be here or-"

"Hey, Rose - I don't suppose you have the Cloak with you?"

"Sorry, mate," she said with a shaky shrug. "Left it up in my dorm."

"We'll have to run for the doors, then," he said resignedly. "Unless you feel up to that Disillusioner thingy again?"

"What are you talking about?" said Jezabel, quaking with fear. "There's no escape, they already know I'm under here! I'll bet they're waiting, waiting for-"

"She's right, Al. We drew too much attention to ourselves when we - _you_ \- pulled out that bench, the Disillusionment Charm wouldn't help us much."

"Yeah, wish I hadn't done that, now. A mad dash on three, then? One-"

Jezabel was already breathing hard. "No, no, don't, I'll just stay here, I-"

"Two-"

"-sort of nice under here when you stop to enjoy-"

_"Three!"_

Each of the cousins grasping one of her thin, grimy hands, they bolted from their sanctuary, past the other House tables and gaping faces and out of the Great Hall, causing Belvina Hitchens to leap backward and land spread-eagled on the Slytherin table, sending food flying everywhere. Thinking quickly as he noticed the Entrance Hall was nearly clear, he jerked the other two across and down a hallway, at last reaching another of the hundreds of always-empty classrooms in Hogwarts. Not even bothering to see if it was already unlocked, he waved his wand at it, muttering, "Alohomora!" and threw himself on it, clawing it open and holding it for the other two, then racing inside and slamming it shut behind them.

There was a lot of heavy panting for the next minute or so as they all attempted to keep their hearts from rupturing. Then, with a plaintive wail, Jezabel rounded on them, pale cheeks flushed with as much colour as he'd ever seen in them.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?! They're going to hate me, I can see it already, the looks in their eyes, I'm not welcome - and now they've seen us running away, and you've associated yourselves - they'll think we're all traitors, or spies, or-"

 _"Breathe!"_ Albus commanded, and she obeyed, lapsing into silence as she fought to master herself. "Now, it might be nice if we could have a relaxed, easy conversation in which we're not running at top speed or hanging around a depressing tomb, wouldn't it? Let's take a minute here and... and work this all out."

"But- but Professor Longbottom said he was going to ask someone to help me get acquainted with being a G-G-G-Gryffindor." Albus noted that she spoke the name of their House as if it were a great and powerful beast worthy of both fear and respect. "And I had to be at your House table, but now we've gone, and I won't know anything, I'll be so lost for-"

"No, you won't," Albus cut across her. "The password's going to be 'Trevor' this term, and we'll show you where you have to say it later. Don't lose your head so easily."

"I... I don't know-"

"We'll get you through this," said Rose, even though Albus could tell her conviction was not as strong. "But you have to tell us - how'd you end up changing Houses? I mean to say, that's never-"

"Right," she sighed, finally seeming to calm down the barest amount. "I- I suppose if we're to be H-Housemates now, you should probably know that much." Clutching at the neck of her new Gryffindor robes, she glanced up and down the room, finally picking a desk to perch on; Albus and Rose followed suit, both taking seats facing her.

"Well, I- well, we all went home for Christmas, and- and I spent the whole time worrying, worrying that I'd get an owl asking me not to return, or-"

"We tried to get you to see reason," Rose butted in. "We waited for you the morning everybody went home, but you left before we got the chance to talk about it."

"You... you did?"

"Yeah," said Albus.

"Oh..." She stared at her tatty shoes for a moment before clearing her throat. "Er, anyway, so I returned this morning, and Professor Dryden was there, of course, and he asks me to wait in his office. When the other Slytherins had all shown up, he called for Headmistress Sprout and Professor Flitwick, and they... they brought in the Sorting Hat."

She had their full attention now; Rose had begun unwrapping a Peppermint Toad, but it now sat forgotten in her hand, struggling feebly.

"Flitwick, he charmed it so they could hear everything it was saying, even what it normally keeps between the wearer and itself, and... and they heard what I'd done when I was Sorted. They all heard." Tears of shame began silently rolling down her face, and Albus offered her a handkerchief, which she regarded with the same trepidation she'd shown his hand on two occasions before.

"Go on," Albus urged softly. "Please?"

Glancing between he and Rose, she took it and wiped her eyes - Albus wondered at how she managed this without disturbing her curtain of messy hair. "Y-you see," she whispered, even though there was noone who could possibly overhear her, "when I first boarded the Hogwarts Express, I came to sit in the same compartment with Lysandra Rosier, Ursula Marrow, and Patricia Montague, and they were friends already - Lysandra's my age and was just starting as well, but she and Patricia's families are sort of close. Any- anyway, they didn't know me, and I didn't say much, but they kept going on about how great Slytherin was, how all the best witches and wizards were in Slytherin, and how they hoped Lysandra would get in. Then, they asked me who my parents were, and I told them their names, and they said they didn't recognise them but that I'd better get into Slytherin, or else I wasn't worth anything. Th- they never asked if my parents were magical or not, or else they might- no. No, they would definitely have told me to leave, looking back I'm sure of it."

Albus squirmed, not wanting to halt her momentum now that she was finally really talking about herself, but needing to ask something. "So... what was it you did? To the Hat, I mean."

"Asked it to change its mind." She drew her knees up to her chest, rocking back and forth on the surface of the desk, nearly pitching into the floor. "I begged it to put me in Slytherin, because if I went there I'd be- that is, I thought I'd be accepted, that I might belong there. The Hat t-tried to tell me I was making a mistake, that it saw my path lay in Ravenclaw, thought I had the mind for it, but... but I just kept pleading for it do me this favour, that it put me where the girls on the train had told me I wanted to be. So it did."

There was an echo within Albus's mind as the penny dropped into place and he received understanding; this girl was never meant to be a Slytherin. She hadn't behaved much like one, not a single time he'd spoken to her had she shown any signs of belonging to her House. It was only because she had listened to the other Slytherins, because she had trusted them, that she wound up there.

"But that's- there's still one thing that stumps me," Rose said, gnawing at her hair so hard Albus was sure she'd get it stuck in her teeth. "If you were supposed to be a Ravenclaw, then wangled yourself into Slytherin... what are you doing in Gryffindor?"

"Yes," she breathed, looking between the two of them as if afraid they would draw their wands on her when she told them the next part. "I don't know, either."

_END Chapter Nineteen_


	20. Jezabel And Damocles

With alarming speed, Jezabel Skirrow went from virtually invisible to the most talked-about person at Hogwarts. By the end of their first day of Winter term, it became evident that even Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were gossiping furiously about why this shy, dirty witch had almost literally switched sides overnight, why the teachers had approved of such an irregular action, and what business she had in Gryffindor that she couldn't get done in Slytherin.

Albus had hoped to encourage her more often in the hallways, to at least give her a thumbs up or a reassuring smile now and then, but he'd forgotten something: despite her shift in sleeping locations, she was continuing with the same N.E.W.T. classes, and he'd be seeing her just as infrequently as before. However, when lunchtime rolled around on Wednesday, for the first time he actually caught her eating in the Great Hall.

"Hey, Jezabel," he gusted, plopping down across from her and moving a plate of pie and mash toward him. "What's up?"

"H-hello, Albus Potter," she said quietly, as if keeping her voice down might stop the other students boring holes through her. "I... not bad. That is, nothing much. You?"

"Well, I've got Potions next... I don't think Dryden likes me so much now I've ratted out Malfoy, but oh, well. Can't please everyone, can you?"

She merely shrugged, staring down into the bland-looking soup she had been sipping from behind her matted barrier.

"What's a good word, you lot?" Rose asked as she joined them, immediately pouring herself a goblet of orange juice. "Finch-Fletchley was going on about some wonky contrivance called the Enter-net... sounds like a way to keep unwanted solicitors out of your house, you ask me."

"You didn't miss much in Divination," said Albus. "We spent the entire period gazing at the stars and waiting for them to 'speak to us' - Firenze did give Logan a good nudge with his hoof when he started snoring, though, that was cool."

"What've you got next, Jezabel?" Rose asked; Albus winced when he noticed her tone was that of someone speaking cordially to an out-of-towner.

"Pardon me? Oh... oh, sorry, I- I have Ancient Runes after lunch."

"Ouch, sounds rough."

"Not particularly. Outdated, yes, I'm not sure it's a very practical discipline, but the classes don't present enough of a challenge to consider dropping it - what if I need to decipher runes in my chosen field?"

"Still, you're in N.E.W.T.s, now," said Albus. "Must be nice to have all those free periods."

"But I don't have any."

"What?!"

"My schedule's full, I didn't drop any classes after O.W.L.s." When they gaped at her, she put her spoon down, trembling slightly. "What? Is... was I supposed to? Oh my, is it not good to keep that many, maybe it's not too late, maybe I can go and drop History Of Magic, I've already read all the books anyw-"

"Hey, hey, settle down!" Rose laughed. "That's not what we meant at all! It's just, well, we're not quite as dedicated students as you are - er, apparently."

"I see..." And she giggled nervously, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Well, yes. Er, anyway, I think I should get going, wouldn't want to be late."

"You don't have to do that," said Albus, but it was too late; she was already pelting from the table at breakneck, schoolbag swinging wildly and almost toppling Brian Ashmore, to whom she apologised profusely before fleeing the Great Hall.

"Can't force her to stay, I guess." Rose shook her head and took a sip of her juice before saying, "So... ready to face Dryden again?"

Albus's lip curled of its own accord. "Of course not, but what choice do we have? I'm out of Skiving Snackboxes."

o o o

In the days after, Albus found he saw very little of Jezabel, which was no doubt her choice; once or twice he happened to glimpse her in the common room, studying heavily, but she seemed to decide she was finished the very same moment he approached, giving him a courteous sort of half-bow before disappearing up toward her new dormitory or out the portrait hole. He began to suspect he'd offended her somehow.

"Don't be thick," Rose reassured him as they picked their way through the snow down to Hagrid's cabin that Friday. "How would you have done - you're pretty much the only friend she's ever had, aren't you? The twitchy witch just needs to adjust, it's natural."

"How long will that take? I mean, she can't keep skipping out like that forever, her legs'll fall off."

As it turned out, they were studying Clabberts that day, which was fine by Albus; he had been lucky enough to avoid the thestrals since they arrived at school, but if Tranky Thomas were to be believed, he knew the class period in which they would have to study them would happen upon him soon. Therefore, an hour involving any other magical beast was a blessing in his book.

"They're just scaly monkeys!" said Atticus Malkin loudly.

"There's more to 'em than tha'," Hagrid insisted as the frog-skinned primate climbed up his arm and rested on his shoulder, horned head twisting this way and that to take in all the students staring at him. "I don' suppose any o' yeh know- ahh, Miss Nott?"

"Well, they're able to swim underwater for long periods, like an amphibian." Albus couldn't help but think Genevieve was squeezing what little information her brain could hold into an eggcup and presenting it to the gamekeeper. " _And_ swing through trees like monkeys. It's the only creature like that."

"Righ' yeh are - five points ter Slytherin!" Genevieve turned to look at the rest of the class, smiling smugly. "Now, there's one more fascinatin' bit abou' this bugger - anybody? Lewis?"

"The pustule on its head," said Caspian, teeth chattering as he held his arms tighter about his chest. "It lights up red when it senses danger."

"Well done, Lewis - take five fer Gryffindor, there's a bright lad. Yep, anytime they're threatened, a clabbert's bulb here'll flash. They do that ter warn the others in their mission, but some wizardin' folk used ter keep 'em in their gardens to alert 'em if Muggles was comin' too close. The Ministry don' allow that no more, o' course, so don' go askin' yer mummy and daddy ter buy yeh one!"

The rest of the period was spent trying to feed the seven or eight Clabberts Hagrid had procured for them. He had bananas, small lizards, apples, dead flies, Honeydukes chocolate and rather ugly looking dead birds to try them on, and Albus was surprised by what they chose to eat.

"They go for the lizards almost every time," he said. "Like they're a delicacy."

"Haha!" Rose laughed as the creature climbed atop her head, hanging its own upside-down to look into her eyes. "These things are so funny, wish I had one!"

"And they don't fancy the bananas at all - I thought monkeys liked bananas?"

"Well, these aren't monkeys, are they?" said Ryan from nearby, nibbling on the chocolate instead of trying to give it to the Clabbert. "The same way crups won't touch liver - just because they look like another animal doesn't mean they're _that_ similar."

Rose glared at him. "I'm so glad we asked for your opinion."

"Knew you would be."

On his way up to Gryffindor Tower that evening, Albus saw something that improved his mood considerably. Laughing giddily all the way there, he found Rose just exiting from behind the Fat Lady and almost exploded in his haste to tell her.

"Zacharias Travers is on the third floor, cleaning up a mess from an exploded yak's bladder - without magic!"

"Urgh!" replied Rose, chortling as well. "That another of his detentions?"

"He's got detentions?"

"You betcha," she said, one of her blue eyes glinting in a very satisfied manner. "I heard from Catherine Orchard, who has it from Penny Camus, who found out from Gladys Stone, who overheard Genevieve Nott telling Tristessa Gulch that Zachy-boy's got detentions from now until Easter, thanks to you and Professor Longbottom!"

"What?!" Albus half exclaimed this out of joy, and half because he had scarcely followed the pattern of Rose's grapevine. "Excellent!"

They were still talking animatedly about this when Jezabel walked up behind them, arms laden with library books. Albus spun around and repeated his news.

"Oh... well, I hope he's not terribly cross with me for it."

"What are you talking about? The bloody-" here he called Zacharias a word that made both Jezabel and Rose gasp in shock "-got no less than he deserved, you should be happy!"

"I'm sorry," she said earnestly, grunting as she readjusted the pile of books. "I... I'd rather he didn't do what he did, obviously I didn't enjoy it, but I'm not sure his suffering makes me feel any better. Excuse me, please - Trevor."

And she walked past them into the opening portrait hole, leaving the two cousins to gape at her back as if having just been told their Summer holidays would be spent doing remedial Potions.

"Y'know, I'm starting to agree with you, Rose - she _is_ fairly odd."

"Weasleys know whereof they speak," she shrugged. "C'mon, let's see if we can knock out that Herbology essay tonight, ease up our weekend load."

But this plan did not prove feasable, for as soon as they set to studying Aqua Rankin let off a few of Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs, and everyone became so fascinated by the brilliant, shape-shifting, dancing fireworks that no one within the common room could hope to concentrate. After close to an hour, they gave up trying in favour of a fresh start in the morning, as Olivia Wood would soon be commanding them down onto the pitch for another night's back-breaking practise, anyway.

And so it came to be that Albus and Rose were finishing the very same essay on Sunday, having left it until last in favour of their shorter Astronomy homework and some much-needed Transfiguration practise. Indistinct black circles growing under their eyes, they dragged themselves at last from the depths of the library, having finally scratched out all anyone could possibly need to know about why Devil's Snare was not a particularly favourable anti-burglar measure, including historical instances and references.

"Can't believe anybody would ever do such a thing," Rose muttered as they slowly drifted downstairs. "You'd have to have the IQ of a parsnip to think of putting a strangling plant like that in your garden!"

"Not that it hasn't happened before - as we know exhaustively well by now."

"You're not kidding. Was this really necessary, I ask you? Just because we're in O.W.L. year, they ask us to do ridiculous amounts of homework, even though about a paragraph on this would have suffic-"

"What the-"

They'd spotted the disturbance at exactly the same time; a thick crowd of students gathered near the entrance to the Trophy Room, all of them making jerky, worried movements and watching a smaller group of shouting individuals. Edging their way toward the front, nearly having to step on toes to get there, they found Belvina Hitchens spitting and howling, evidently displeased.

"You're _sorry?_ You think 'sorry' will make up for _THIS?!"_

It was then Albus saw the blood pouring from a nasty shoulder wound; searching the area not cluttered with gawkers, he saw a suit of armour lying nearby on the floor, the tip of the sword it had been proudly holding erect smeared with red.

"B-but this isn't m-my fault, I- I wasn't the one who- who-"

"The hell it wasn't!" Belvina shouted down at Jezabel. Instantly, Albus's heart sank to somewhere around his ankles - why did she have to be there? "You were right behind me, I know I saw you coming out of the Charms classroom, you can't deny it!"

"I don't!" Jezabel squeaked, automatically cowering against the wall. "B-but I didn't do it, I swear, I d-didn't see who-"

"You are such a liar! You conned your way into Gryffindor somehow, nobody knows how you did it, but it had to be a real whopper or else-"

"No, that's- that's not how it happened! Please, I was j-just asking Professor Weasley why the Aguamenti Charm isn't b-bound by Gamp's Law of Elemental-"

"You think I give an Erkling's eye what you were doing before?!" she growled, taking yet another step toward Jezabel. "I'm kind of preoccupied with the gushing hole in my person!"

"Please, I- I didn't, it wasn't me, I swear!"

"I'm going to curse you into kingdom-"

"HOLD IT!"

Albus and Rose strode forward as one, wands out, turned up and into Belvina's throat. The Hufflepuff gapsed, backing up a step as they glared into her face, deadly serious.

"Haven't you learned anything?" Rose barked. "Still screaming at other students!"

"But she attacked me!" Belvina protested, tears playing at the corners of her bloodshot eyes. "I'm actually bleeding down my robes, how can you hold it against-"

"She says she didn't do it." Albus glanced over his shoulder at where Jezabel was sliding down the wall, fingertips digging into her cheeks. "And even if she did, what if it was an accident? You can't curse her for that."

"B-but- but this isn't fair! _I'm_ the one that's been hurt, you should be helping me, not sticking up for that slimy little minx!"

She'd tipped her hand, and Albus decided to make sure she knew it. "Five points from Hufflepuff. Do try and remember you're talking to prefects, hmm?"

"As for that shoulder," snarled Rose, "you should be off to the hospital wing instead of throwing the blame around, shouldn't you?"

"No!" She shoved herself away from them, hands curling into fists, quaking in anger. "I've been impaled, here, and I want to see some punishment!"

Rose laughed harshly. "Are you daft?"

"Your House still has plenty of points left!" Albus shouted, his temples throbbing. "D'you want me to take some more?!"

"Or we could forget we're even in school." He glanced over to see Rose was rolling up her sleeves. "I could do with a scrap, might be good for the overworked soul."

Albus took advantage of the momentary pause in action to survey the scene: Belvina glaring daggers at both of them past her prominent nose; Rose backing into an unmistakable Muggle boxing stance, teetering between hating this and welcoming it; and Jezabel on the floor, sobbing quietly and muttering to herself. Opting not to repeat his mistake from the term previous, he abandoned the squabble and bent down over the forlorn tangle of blackness.

"Did you do it?" he whispered, scarcely loud enough for even her to hear it; she responded in kind.

"N-no, Albus! Y-you have to believe me, I- I heard the crash, and looked over, and- and saw her on the floor, and I came over, and- and she thought I did it, there was- was- there was nobody else there, I thought-"

"Shh - I believe you. You'll be all right, just stay there a minute." Standing again, he announced to the onlookers at large, "Oi, listen up, you lot! If there's anybody else here that actually saw how Belvina here got stabbed, it'd be swell if you said something right about now!"

It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, the only movement coming from Rose when she finally lowered her fists and whipped her wand back out, glancing at Albus as if to ask if he had any idea what to do next. Albus was going to command Belvina to the hospital wing whether or not she wanted to go when a cough sounded from the back of the mob; they parted to allow a small, golden-curled figure to pass.

"I'm sorry, Belvina," said Dorika Dunsmore, unable to look anyone in the face. "I... it was a total accident, I hadn't realised it'd hurt anyone. C-c-can you forgive me?"

Belvina Hitchens gaped at her Housemate, shaking her head slowly as if she'd received a rude gesture from a puffskein. "You... it can't have been... why? Why would you do this to me?"

"I was in a hurry - trying to catch up to- well, er, to Joseph Moran." Her cheeks slowly filled with colour. "He- he's not in many of the same classes as I am, so- so I almost _have_ to catch him after. I was in the Trophy Room, and he walked by, and- oh, I didn't mean to bump into the suit of armour, but I thought I'd come back and pick it up once I'd- I'd-"

"Spit it out, will you?" Albus said rather coldly; Rose nudged him, and when he looked around she was giving him this 'Can't you tell what she's trying to say?' look that tended to infuriate him.

"Once I'd asked him out," she blurted, now a solid crimson. The crowd began to laugh nervously, and Albus suddenly wished Rose had elbowed him before he'd spoken. "I'm sorry, everyone, I didn't mean to cause any pain, or stir up such a fuss, or anything!"

Nearly twenty seconds passed in tense silence before a fourth-year called out, "So did he say 'yes'?"

"I can't believe you!" Belvina erupted, even as several girls in the mob tittered shamelessly. "You just aren't able to keep your head screwed down tight, are you? Grades slipping, can't catch the Quaffle to save your life - oh bugger, now I might not be able to play against Gryffindor, and it's only a month away! I hope you're happy with yourself, Dorika Dunsmore! You're ruining the good name of Hufflepuff because you just can't seem to do anything right! Get knotted, why don't you?!"

And with that, she stormed off, clutching her shoulder and sputtering to no one in particular.

"Yowtch," Rose breathed.

"This is terrible!" said a thoroughly-distressed Dorika as the spectators began to drift off. "And on top of all that, he turned me down... why do I always get the short end of the stick?"

Albus paused to watch her slowly slump off toward the stairs before bending down to where Jezabel was still huddled on the floor, shivering and refusing to move. Rose remained standing, evidently waiting for someone to reinitiate the row.

"It's over, Jezabel," he whispered. "No one's blaming you anymore - they shouldn't have done, anyway."

"This is going to be my life now, isn't it?" she said, a mad amusement in her tone. "Being the 'slimy little minx' that the masses assume is responsible for everything."

"Don't talk like that," he said firmly. "Everybody's watching you now because of the whole House-switching thing; it'll blow over."

"Albus, do..." She glanced nervously at Rose, a corner of her glistening eye barely visible for an instant, then dropped her voice, speaking again in that confidential tone. "Do you think I'm... slimy?"

"Er, what?" That was a tricky question. He did not consider her "slimy" per se, and thought she was a strange-but-nice witch, but he couldn't deny that her hair looked like it had never in its life been introduced to either a barber or a shampoo bottle. In the end, he erred on the side of caution: "D-don't be silly, Hitchens was just being her usual pleasant self."

She nodded grimly. Then, Albus stood and offered her his hand, which she merely looked at; this time, however, he reached down and grasped hers himself.

"C'mon, up we get."

When she was on her feet again, she spent the span of two seconds staring at him, her mouth hanging slightly open, before she stooped to rake her things back into her schoolbag. "Th-this is such a mess, I can't leave anything - what if my ink bottle's rolled away, or I leave behind a quill?"

Rose shrugged. "Go get another one?"

"B-but I only have two," she said, checking her ink bottle for cracks. "If I lose one, I'll have to make absolutely sure the other lasts me the rest of the year, or I won't be able to do any homework!"

"Come off it, you can't be serious," Rose said, smiling in disbelief. When Jezabel only turned toward her quizzically, the smile slipped quite a ways. "But you are, aren't you?"

"You can borrow one of ours, you know," said Albus. "Anytime you need a quill, or anything else."

"N-no, I- my father says the only people worse than lenders are borrowers."

Revulsion inched onto Rose's face. "Oh, that's a lovely thought; can I get that on a sampler?"

Jezabel backed up a step, wringing the strap of her bag as if it had done her personal injury. "Wait, no, that's not- I'm not saying you're any worse for- I just meant- I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry!"

"Jez-"

And she was off, flying up the staircase and out of sight. Even as he stood there, sputtering, he had to admire her speed and agility.

"Amazing how easy she takes things the wrong way," Rose observed. "Has it down to an art, that one."

"Did you have to?!" he shouted. "Make fun of what her dad said?"

"Oi, that's not- it's a deplorable saying, you heard it!"

"Yeah, well..." Suddenly realising this was a poor way to vent his frustration, he opted instead to punch the wall as hard as he could, which only made his fist begin to throb.

"Al!" Rose gasped. "Merlin, are you all right?"

"No! No, I'm not all right - and I think Belvina Hitchens ought to be boiled in oil like the big fat chicken she is!"

"Whoa, easy there, mate!" said Rose hastily. "We got it all sorted, didn't we? Dorika confessed, and- and we did dock them House points, don't forget that!"

"But it's not enough! Nobody gets what really happened here, they'll just come away thinking it was funny that Dorika wants to snog Moran, and- and that poor Belvina had to go see Madam Pomfrey! They'll never remember that Jezabel was unjustly accused because she happened to be on the same sodding _floor!_ "

Rose gave Albus room to breathe, chest heaving, jaw clenched as he shook his smarting hand; meanwhile, her brow was furrowed, the corners of her mouth turned down. Finally, when he folded his arms and leaned back against the same section of stone Jezabel had backed into, his cousin let out a heavy, disquieted breath.

"You're right, of course. That's the rub of it all; even when everybody's talking _about_ her, they're still not really looking _at_ Jezabel, are they? It's low, and unfair."

"Damn right it isn't!" He paused to take a deep, cleansing breath that did little to make him feel cleansed. "That crimeless girl thinks nobody likes her, that she's offensive and unlikeable, and that she doesn't have the right to be her own person. It makes me sick thinking about it, like I want to- to help, but... what can we do, Rose? What can we do?"

Rose finger-combed through her red (and violet) hair, staring through the floor. "We... we'll think of something."

_END Chapter Twenty_


	21. A Lesson In History

In Albus's opinion, the remainder of January following Belvina's stabbing was a mixed bag. While no one died, and both he and Rose received mostly good marks on all their schoolwork (the exception being a particularly treacherous Defense Against The Dark Arts lesson, in which they both failed to employ good use of the Impediment Jinx and got set a small heap of additional homework by Professor Peele), nothing amazingly good happened, either. They also could think of no more possible solutions to any of their three biggest problems: the mystery of the Hogwarts ghosts, Jezabel's sad state, and the ever-present looming threat of their O.W.L.s.

Jezabel, for her part, seemed to be gradually coming around - which is to say she eventually stopped avoiding them altogether and would actually return their greetings in the hallways, though she remained largely withdrawn. Albus forced himself to be glad of the minor improvement.

One brief bright spot interrupted the otherwise cold and dreary month, and just two days after Belvina "did a Damocles", as Catherine Orchard liked to call it - though most students thought she was talking about the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion. As Albus was sitting down to breakfast that morning, rubbing sleep from his eyes, three or four owls swooped down upon him, littering the space in front of his pumpkin juice with small packages and envelopes.

"Whoa!" Rose gasped, moving her plate of eggs and toast as another landed, its wing flapping briefly in someone else's leftover cornflakes. "What've you done to deserve this, and where can I sign up?"

Albus was too busy ripping open the package that Dobby, his own pet, had brought from his parents; nipping his knuckle affectionately, the tawny owl hopped over to investigate those cornflakes as Albus withdrew a pair of dragon hide gloves.

"Oh yeah," said Rose, glancing around at the other owls, all of whom were eager to deliver their packages first and beat out their fellows. "That's right - Happy Birthday, Al!"

"Cheers," he said distractedly. "I forgot... wow, I needed a new pair, too, my old ones are worn pretty thin, and there's a hole in the thumb - thanks, Dobby!"

His owl hooted and took off for the Owlery, a drip of milk falling onto Aqua Rankin's head, causing her to look around for the culprit.

It turned out he also received the revised edition of "Hogwarts, A History" from Aunt Hermione that she'd had a hand in publishing, an antique monocle from Aunt Andromeda (he was quite surprised she even remembered), a small ruby lapel pin in the shape of a beetroot from Professor Longbottom (the note said something about "To remember our chat in the shed by"), some experimental product called Anise Ants from Uncle George, and a thick, handsome tannish vest from Hagrid.

"What on earth is this stuff made of?" asked Rose, running her hand over its tough material. "It's no ordinary leather, but it's definitely not from any dragon I've heard of."

"The note says... blimey! It's manticore hide!"

"No, it isn't," Rose scoffed, squinting down at it. "There's no way, not in a million years-"

"But that's what it says!" Shoving the note under her nose, he went back to admiring the vest. "Holy hippogriffs, I wonder what he had to go through to get his hands on one..."

Rose couldn't help but smile, even as she looked faint. "Knowing Hagrid, he'll have slain the manticore himself."

The memory of his interesting gifts carried Albus through the rest of the day - even the rigorous Transfiguration period in which they tried turning geese into mongeese. After a heavy supper that put him in a drowsy mood, he and Rose settled to Professor Abbott's abysmally-long essay on Switching Spells, but the fire was so warm and soothing that he'd scarcely worked out the first few inches before he dozed off.

A pain in his shoe awoke him with a start; Albus's eyes fluttered open to see Rose hovering over him, hand on her hip.

"Wh... wha?"

"Do you want your stupid present or not?"

When he only stared at her, she tutted exasperatedly and thrust a box into his hands - and this box seemed very familiar to him. He was only just prising the lid off when he stopped, looking up at her suspiciously.

"Oh, very original. You can't, Rose, I won't let-"

"Shut up and open it."

Sighing, he knocked the lid off and only rolled his eyes when he beheld the familiar Invisibility Cloak. "Don't be stupid, I'm not taking this back. It's yours, I wanted you to-"

"You wanted me to quit giving you the silent treatment," she said matter-of-factly. "Why on God's green earth would you actually part with something like that otherwise?"

"I wouldn't give it to just anyone, you know."

For one wild moment, he was positive Rose was about to start crying. Then, she shook her head violently. "Look, if it really were nothing but some amazing cloak, I might actually consider keeping it. Albus, it belonged to your grandfather - it's an heirloom, and you're the heir! You can buy me a house when we've left school as thanks if you wish, but there's no way I'm stealing a birthright from you. Gripe all you like, but you're taking it back."

He stared down into the box at the silvery cloak, now wondering if he might cry himself. Before he had to worry about hiding his tears, he heard his cousin say, "Happy Birthday" and dash up the stairs into her dormitory, slamming the door shut rather loudly.

Next morning at breakfast, there was a sort of awkward silence for a few minutes due to how they had left things the night before. Then they both seemed to realise at the same moment they were late for Double Transfiguration, and their essays still weren't finished. Professor Abbott was quite displeased with them.

o o o

The following Monday, word began to spread quickly throughout the castle that nearly a dozen students had been taken to the hospital wing. Everyone had to put up with a plethora of conflicting, unlikely tales before Headmistress Sprout announced to the school at large that for the first time in half a century, there was an outbreak of spattergroit. It was finally determined that Jocasta O'Quin, a Gryffindor sixth-year who had a very temperamental stomach and couldn't eat much of the Hogwarts food, received a rather greenish cured meat from home that had given her the disease, and her coughing had spread it to a few more students on her way to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey evidently was working from behind a Bubble-Head Charm and several other enchantments so as not to catch it herself; she was learned enough to recognise the symptoms the minute Jocasta walked into her ward, and immediately commanded the girl not to come any closer or she'd throw a bedpan at her.

It wasn't until the next day that Albus gained further information that made him feel green himself.

"Rose!" he hissed, grabbing her by the lapels as she exited the girls' lavatory. "You're not going to believe- oh, Merlin, it's terrible!"

"What?" The fleeting glance she threw over her shoulder told him she was slightly weirded out by the fact that he'd been waiting for her outside the loo. "Er, Al, calm down, what's the-"

"It's got Jezabel, and Dorika, and- and- and James!"

Her eyes flew open. "The spattergroit? No!"

"Yes!" It was amazing how all three names cut him to the quick, even though he scarcely spoke to the first two and the third usually had nothing nice to say. "They're all down there right now, moaning and- Rose, we've got to do something, we've-"

"Calm down, Al," she said shakily, leading him further down the hall. "I- I'm sure Madam Pomfrey can put them right, she's- she's always worked miracles, and everybody knows spattergroit's not usually fatal-"

"Usually?!"

"-though sometimes victims may be scarred for life-"

_"Rose, for Peverell's sake!!!"_

Just as Albus was about to grab her lapels again and shake some understanding into her, he was almost bowled over by Professor Dryden, hurrying toward the hospital wing and carrying two extremely large glass jars full of small, squishy things.

"What d'you think _that's_ about?" Rose breathed. "The one had toad livers in it..."

"Who _cares_ what Dryden's having for lunch? That's my _brother_ in there!"

Luckily, it turned out the situation wasn't so dire as they had feared, and all the afflicted students were released just a few days later. Albus and Rose, who had been waiting at the door with Lily, Hugo and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, immediately threw themselves upon James, ruffling his hair and pounding him on the back. Other than a slight greenish tinge and a tendency to wilt now and again, you couldn't tell any of them had been sick at all - save Jocasta herself, who had the faintest pockmarks around her temples from where she'd begun to break out in spattergroit's accompanying pustules before they could administer the remedy.

"Yeah, Pomfrey says they caught it just in time," James told them as the crowd parted to allow a surly Chester Pucey and Atticus Malkin to tromp through, rubbing their faces groggily. "Another few hours and we might not have been cured so easily - and might've spread it even further."

"Urgh," gasped Dorika Dunsmore as she stumbled past them. "I don't think I can ever ingest eel again..."

"Al," Rose whispered, nudging him in the back. He looked up to see Jezabel edging around behind Aiden McLaggen's wide back and making her way slowly down the corridor. Nodding his understanding back at Rose, he slipped away from the crowd and followed after her.

"Jezabel, wait up!"

"Huh?" She spun dizzily to look at him, then smiled weakly. "Albus. H-hello, how've you been?"

"Me? What about _you?_ Spattergroit, eh?"

She nodded, turning to continue walking. "Yes, it was very interesting... well, in a disgusting, painful sort of way."

"I'm sorry I didn't come and see you, but-"

"-but you would've caught it, as well," she snickered. For some reason, this small thing completely erased all the residual anxiety that had been lingering in his bones, as if it contained the truth that everything was normal again, and he fell into an easy pace beside her as she headed upstairs.

"So... how've you been, really? And I don't mean going all green and slimy."

He realised too late that he'd said entirely the wrong thing, and the way Jezabel stumbled almost imperceptibly confirmed it; how could he have stepped in it that stupidly? Thinking quickly, he added, "Now you're back to your normal, non-slimy self, we've finally a chance to talk."

Her semi-appreciative, "thanks so much for the used toilet tissue" smile told him he'd not succeeded in correcting his error, but it did seem to have kept her from running off. "Well, all right, then, I suppose... what shall we talk about?"

This one had him; he'd never been asked to pick from any topic in the universe at random before. "Er, ahh, erm... I dunno."

To his relief, they both laughed, and for the first time he got to see something resembling happiness in her; a true smile, a lightness in her usually-downtrodden soft tones. As unexpected and brief as it was, he thought it suited her.

"I... I'm sorry about what I said," said Jezabel in a rush. "Before Christmas."

"What you... er, I don't follow."

"That... that you should have left well enough alone. You were trying to help, I- I know that. That was very rude of me, and I'm sorry." He became aware that she was trying not to glance in his direction, as though she were still the Muggle-born Slytherin that wasn't permitted to look at or touch anything. This brought a subject to mind, and he seized on it, having no other ready alternatives.

"So, your parents are both Muggles? I... crap, that sounded a lot less blunt in my head."

"Yes," she giggled, finally reaching the stairs. "Yes, they are. It's a bit jarring - being told that instead of learning geometry or world history, you'll be learning how to make baubles levitate, or change into goats. I couldn't explain the things I was doing when I was younger until she came to see me, told me that I was accepted here - then, it was like everything made sense."

"Things you were... doing?"

A slight nod. "Magical things. Once, I blew out all the candles on my brother's birthday cake without opening my mouth - and I was on the other side of the room. I just remember wishing it were my birthday... and they blamed me, they knew it was me somehow, because I was always behaving so oddly. Back then I... oh. No, no, I can't. I suspect you'd find it all tiresome, anyway."

"Go on."

"No, I- I really can't say, it's- no, please, don't ask me that right now, it's too-"

"Listen to me." Suddenly, Albus found that now more than ever he wanted to make this girl in her secondhand robes and worn-out shoes understand that she was going to suffer no antagonism at his hands. "Whatever you tell me, unless it's something that is literally threatening your life - Mum's the word, I mean it."

Jezabel came to a halt, lip trembling. Albus was sure she was going to burst into tears again, but instead she blurted, "I thought they were faerie tales, all right? I thought leprechauns, or imps, or invisible elves or something were d-doing these strange things - that they were playing cruel jokes on me, punishing me for thinking bad thoughts about my siblings, or my parents, or my primary schoolmates. I- I used to think a lot of bad thoughts about people, used to be angrier and more selfish, but then- then the magic started happening, and I learned that I shouldn't, that I couldn't do that, and- and little by little, the bad things stopped happening."

"I see," he said slowly. "So... so because you thought you were being punished, you learned to control your accidental magic. That's kind of amazing."

She laughed again, but a more nervous laugh, as if he shouldn't be saying such things. "I'm not sure what Mother would have done with me if I did keep it up - put me up for adoption, or maybe just tried punishing me whenever I'd done magic. I'm fortunate."

Albus couldn't help but disagree, but another thought saved him from needing to say anything. "She... she came to see you. A staff member brought you your Hogwarts letter?"

A rather sad nod, Albus thought. "Headmistress McGonagall."

"What?" he gasped, looking sharply at her. "But... but she's dead!"

"Of course she is," she sighed meekly. "She died scarcely a week after she visited us. I... I can't explain how badly- how deeply it touched me. McGonagall was the ambassador, she'd come to extend the invitation, and... and I wouldn't be seeing her around, couldn't ask her for advice. It was... difficult to accept, but... but they brought the students to the funeral, and I saw her there, saw her body in its coffin, and- and-"

"Hey," Albus said, squeezing her shoulder though unsure whether he should or not. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't know."

"No, you didn't." This seemed to be her way of saying she understood, for she reached up and patted his hand gently. Then, as if it were electrified, she jerked away, shaking all over.

"Er-"

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, glancing down at her own hand, then up at him again. "That was- I'm not sure what I was thinking, I- sorry, I- I have to go!"

And for what seemed like the thousandth time, she was legging it out of the room - or, in this case, hallway. Albus stood there for eons, blinking rapidly and trying to decide whether this last part had actually happened or he'd just passed out and dreamed it.

"Wow," Rose whispered several hours later in the library. "She really just ran off, no explanation?"

"It's like she thought I was going to bite her!" They paused to watch Madam Pince, the librarian, stalk by, her eyes narrowed at them as if daring them to smudge one of her precious tomes. "Did I do the wrong thing? Putting my hand on her shoulder, I mean - too much?"

"No, no, I don't think so - I... well, this is nothing but speculation, mind you."

"Right now, I'd take Sir Cadogan's theories seriously."

Rose's eye twitched, as if she were not at all pleased with such a comparison, but pressed on. "Thing is, I'm not sure she meant to pat your hand at all - a reflex, maybe? Remember, she's always been kind of leery of touching people - or, well, touching you at any rate. Might be a personal thing, like she does fancy you and keeps going all bashful... might be she's just afraid of physical contact. Dunno."

"Yeah... yeah, that's true." While he had been mulling over the Puddifoot Fiasco, the train ride came back to him, then Headmaster Snape's tomb, and finally the more recent Trophy Room debacle. "What's that called again, when people hate being touched?"

"Aphephobia. Well, she might have mysophobia, but looking at those nails-"

"Wait, wait, what?" Albus stared over at Rose as if she'd just hatched from a dragon egg. "Where are you getting this stuff?"

She scowled at him. "What, aren't I allowed to know stuff? Stop acting like I'm cheating under the table." Even so, he noticed her ears turning pink.

o o o

The Slytherins were lucky the staff were able to restore all the spattergroit patients when they did, as their Quidditch match against the Ravenclaws that took place the very next morning might have been a massacre with Chester Pucey laid up. As it was, they only suffered a minor defeat - a solid ten goals put the score at 160 to 100. Yaxley was simply no match for Joseph Moran, who was apparently quite a good Seeker in his own right besides something of a ladies' man, having caught the Snitch twice this year already. Albus felt the pressure mounting on his back to do well in the coming game.

Apparently, Olivia Wood held similar feelings, as their training sessions seemed to be stretching further and further into the night. Frozen to the bone and wishing for nothing but a cup of hot broth to thaw him out, Albus desperately asked Elizabeth Larkins how to get into the kitchens after a particularly windy practise.

"I can't believe you don't know already!" she said, obviously shocked as he posed the question to her, sinking into the chair next to her in the common room. "Just... just tickle the pear!"

He could feel his eyebrows knitting. "What pear?"

"The pear on the painting in the basement corridor, you git! Big one, bowl of fruit?"

Their unbelievable trip through the room full of stars came back to him in a flash. "Oh, right, I've seen that before - so that's the way into the kitchens, is it?"

"Now, you didn't hear this from me," she said hastily. "In fact, we've never had this conversation, got it? All I need is to get in trouble for breaking into the kitchens again!"

"But wait - why exactly am I tickling a flat fruit?"

Elizabeth rolled her sharp eyes, folding her hands on her lap patiently. "When you tickle it, it turns into a doorknob. Merlin, next you'll be asking what castle you're in."

Unfortunately, at that exact moment Rose came in from the tundra to remind him that they had a quiz in the morning, so he had to content himself with sitting right next to the fire as they pored over their books, trying to cram as much information on the Unforgiveable Curses into their heads as possible.

"Don't know about you," said Rose airily as she poured gravy over her entire plate the next day at lunch, "but I do believe I got top marks on the quiz. And Astronomy was a breeze, too!"

Albus smirked, not as sure he passed with flying colours as his cousin. "Better load up on heavy foods; we can catch a few winks next period."

Indeed, they were soon staring blankly into space in History Of Magic, listening to Professor Binns prattle on and on about some troll riot or other. Then, a curious thought drifted through his mind, and after several thrilling minutes of droning he decided now was as good a time as any to ask, since they obviously were only taking enough notes to know what to read for themselves later.

"Psst! Elizabeth!"

Her head slipped off of the hand that had been propping it up and nearly smacked against the desk. Blinking around dazedly, her eyes finally found Albus, and her lips mouthed, "What?"

"Hey," he said, leaning over slightly so she could hear him more easily. "About the kitchens... how did you find out about that?"

"Why?"

"No reason - call me inquisitive."

Checking warily on Binns, then realising he might never even notice if she belched directly in his face, she leaned in herself, eyes gleaming at the chance to retell this apparently-fun yarn. "Okay, well- I was talking to Janice King one day last year - you know, the Hufflepuff captain?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Anyway, she likes to load up on carbs before a match, and her sister who left school two years back once told her the kitchens were very near their common room. So she goes rubbing all over the place, trying to suss out wherever the entrance might be, when the pear in the painting started wriggling a bit just as she touched-"

"Who do you think you are?!"

They both looked up, startled, at Professor Binns, who was definitely not bending over his books anymore. In fact, the normal silvery-white hue he held now bore a distinct pinkish tinge, and his aged face was contorted into a mask of fury.

"S-sorry, Professor!" Elizabeth stammered automatically, sitting upright in her chair. "W-we won't let it happen again, we were only talk-"

"Like to make a scene, don't we?" he rumbled, drifting slowly through his own desk, the light gleaming off his insubstantial spectacles. "Can't possibly conceive that there are other witches and wizards on this great orb, can you? You contemptible, useless, wretched-"

"No," Elizabeth moaned, eyes stretching wide, lip trembling. "I- not again, I- please, don't, stay back, I'll make it right, I swear, I-"

"You are a blight on humanity! And this is what we teachers do with blighters - we educate them!"

Albus had just enough time to glance over in the direction their translucent teacher was now staring, into the slackened, terrified face of Belvina Hitchens before he saw the Professor move again, and this time he was not merely aiming to intimidate. Seizing an old inkwell from his desk that probably hadn't been unstoppered since the man was alive, he turned and threw it hard directly at Belvina's forehead, where it exploded, raining glass, ink and blood over the students behind her.

Both Albus and Rose were on their feet at once, and as they reached Belvina's slumping body he noticed David Jones and Sandy Galbraith were also at her side, brushing the jagged debris from her face as best they could.

"Is she okay?" Rose hissed.

"I think so," said David, looking the gash over. "It's not very deep, I don't think any's really stuck in the skin. Might be concussed, though."

As Sandy used her wand to magically wipe more of the thick dark mixture away, Albus spared a cautious look in the direction of Professor Binns, who was silvery-white again and staggering dazedly toward his desk - or as much as a ghost can stagger, at any rate - blinking around at his students as if waking from a midday catnap.

"Hmm, I... hmm. Yes, now, what was I saying? Ahh, that's right, Ungnuk The Unruly..."

_END Chapter Twenty-One_


	22. A Disenchanting Afternoon

Needless to say, Professor Binns was put on suspension following his atypical teaching methods that afternoon. The spirit protested most vigorously, claiming he had nothing to do with any such attack and that he wouldn't know what to do with himself if not for teaching his class, but the rest of the staff insisted they must make a full investigation into this incident or else he'd never be allowed back. This seemed to mostly quash his misgivings.

A storm of speculation as to who they might bring in to temporarily take his classes began brewing, but the question was answered almost immediately; Barty's mother had just been wrapping up her regime at Hogwarts due to Flitwick's return to his own subject, and as she was qualified enough to read the same bland lectures Binns always did, they offered her the post at once and she gladly accepted.

"Yes, Mother is quite the jack-of-all-trades," Barty was to be heard saying pompously to all who asked him about this. "Ravenclaw in her years at Hogwarts, very sharp mind. Of course, her research for Madam Goshawk is exceedingly important, but Mother felt she could not deny her duty to give back to her alma mater."

"You'd think they gave _him_ the job," Rose muttered behind his back.

The passing fear the student body had been showing the Hogwarts ghosts before redoubled as February settled over them, and the ghosts themselves seemed distinctly put out over the matter. The Bloody Baron, on the other hand, began taking full advantage by swooping down upon students, murderous eyes gleaming with amusement as they scattered. A few stern admonitions from Headmistress Sprout and Nearly Headless Nick brought an end to this, though he continued to leer menacingly at first-years when they passed him.

Among the relationships that continued to stymy Albus Potter, he found the ones with Ryan Macmillan and Jezabel Skirrow to be first in the queue. Ever since she thwarted spattergroit, Jezabel, despite showing every sign of being pleased to see Albus when they passed each other between periods or in the library, kept her distance from him for the most part, and nothing he did seemed to make her want to open up more. Ryan, conversely, began to hang around him everywhere, making up excuses to goad and pester him, or at the very least annoy with his mere presence. Albus thought he might do just about anything to switch these two behavioural patterns, but could find no spell in any of his books to help him pull off such a miracle.

In light of this newfound atmosphere of weirdness between Housemates and ill-disguised panic over the ghosts, Albus had never looked more forward to a Hogsmeade weekend before, and when the date was finally upon them he became almost obscenely excited. Much to his dismay, however, he had to endure a rather unpleasant encounter the night previous that threatened to drain all fun from the holiday.

"Oi, Albus!"

Aching all over, he turned and leaned heavily on his father's broomstick, hoping Olivia wasn't going to tell him they were going back up into the air for another three hours. "Wh... what?"

"I've got something to ask you," Wendelyne Moore panted as she wiped the chilling sweat from her brow, resting her own Nimbus on her shoulder.

He watched his breath form clouds on the cold, dark air. "Yeah?"

"Well... see, we've got a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow."

"We do at that."

"So... I guess I wanted to ask you if you'd join me."

Suddenly, he found himself short of breath for a new reason. "Join you?"

"Yeah." In a similar fashion, he had a hunch her cheeks weren't rosy from the cold. "I mean, Saint Valentine's is coming up, so... I've been wanting to ask you for a while, actually, and now seems like as good a time as any."

"Oh, er..." Everything in the logical part of his brain told him to say "no". Though Wendelyne wasn't at all bad-looking, and she had a wicked sense of humour that would crop up unexpectedly at just the right times, he didn't necessarily get along with her well enough to make this sound like a sane idea. There was also the fact that she was of the mind that Jezabel was pond scum, and every time he thought about this he wanted to wipe the snarky grin off her face. Still, he couldn't deny it might be fun to have a date for once, and if he worked around to it in precisely the right way, he might be able to further investigate why so many of his classmates automatically disliked Jezabel the way they did.

"I haven't all day, Potter. How about it?"

"Er... yeah, okay, sure."

"Great." It was somehow adorable the way she tried to keep her face from lighting up, and Albus instantly regretted agreeing to this for his unscrupulous reasons. "Meet you by the front gates, okay?"

"All right. Later."

As he watched her march quickly from the pitch, a voice said quietly in his ear, "That looked like a cozy conversation."

 _"Aagh!"_ Whirling, he gusted noisily. "Rose, you blithering- could give a bloke a heart attack that way!"

"So," she continued, mischievous eyes darting between him and Wendelyne's receding form, "what did Moore want? A private, one-to-one training session?"

He sighed, knowing she would never let this drop one way or the other. "Yeah. To take place tomorrow in Hogsmeade, if you have to get all your news before it's printed."

"Oooh, I knew it!" she cackled, hooking her elbow around his neck and rubbing his head roughly. "My little Albie's got himself a genuine rendezvous!"

"Gerroff, you twit!"

o o o

As Rose trailed along after him the next morning, making puckering noises and asking revolting questions he refused to answer, Albus began to think the wiser course would have been to have kept it to himself. Then, out of nowhere, a legitimate query slipped through the embarrassing ones.

"Wait a second," she said slowly as they descended the steps into the Entrance Hall. "I thought you didn't like her."

"What's that?"

"Wendelyne. You said you thought she was a snippy cow or something like that."

"Oh yeah. Well, that's because she doesn't care for Jezabel. Remember that name she called her on the Express?"

"No," she said, her forehead wrinkling with the effort of delving into those long-lost memories. "Sorry, what was it?"

"Nevermind," he said quickly as they reached the oaken doors. "It's better I not think about that just now, I'd rather concentrate on not tripping over my own feet."

"Good luck, loverboy," Rose chided, folding her arms against the chilly fog hovering over the grounds. "I'm sure you'll need it."

"Why do you keep saying things like that as if you've gone on so many more dates than I have?" As he'd been praying, that most assuredly wiped the smirk off his cousin's lips. "See you around!"

Albus vaguely hoped she'd have somehow caught a whiff of leftover spattergroit fungus as he approached the iron gates, but no such luck; Wendelyne was waiting exactly where she'd said, a few feet away from where Mr Urran was checking the students against his master list. His stomach slipped downward a few more notches when he noticed she was wearing a new, rather well-fitting burgundy jumper with corduroy trousers under her cloak, and her flaxen hair was impeccably groomed and sleek for once, rather than resembling a bird's nest. The most he'd done to prepare for this rite of passage was to spend a few extra minutes with his comb, and he instantly felt underdressed in his Weasley jumper and faded denim.

'At least I'm not wearing that horrid rosebud cap,' he thought glumly.

"Over here, Albus!" she called unnecessarily, as he was heading in exactly her direction. Glancing around at the nearby queue, it seemed to him that Wendelyne had done this more for the benefit of the others waiting to leave, and he was mortified to see Tanith Moon and Kayla Sylvanus shooting her some of the dirtiest looks he'd ever seen. This was compounded when he caught the look on Lily's face, standing directly behind them yet trying to act as if they - and he - didn't exist.

"Hi," he said simply as he stopped in front of her. "What's up?"

"You are, finally," she said with a wry grin. "Like to keep girls waiting, do we?"

"Oh, stop it," he laughed nervously, privately wondering whether or not that sort of thing was recommended. "Er, anyway... ready to go?"

"Of course."

They walked in a certain kind of strained silence nearly all the way into Hogsmeade, mostly looking at each other and quickly turning away, feeling increasingly ridiculous. Finally, when he couldn't stand it any longer, Albus said, "All right, then... where to first?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but... I've never been up to the Shrieking Shack."

"Really, you haven't?"

She smiled shyly, and Albus found he did not altogether dislike this look on her. "Nope - I mean, I've sort of wanted to, but I can never quite find my backbone..."

"Sounds like a plan, then."

As they approached the rotting, imposing old building on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, the guilt he'd felt right after she'd asked him out began to mount. He knew with near certainty that the last thing she wanted to hear during their day in the village would be that he'd only agreed to come so he could milk information out of her. Therefore, he decided they might as well enjoy the day.

"Wow, it's so... run-down."

"Yeah." Inwardly, Albus felt strange about this because he knew the full story behind it. Did he dare tell her? Would she be more excited by the unknown aspect it held, or by the twisted, bizarre true story of his own family members? Then he realised he was actually thinking about ways to impress her, and the meaning of this being a date seemed to crash down upon his head with renewed force.

"They say it's haunted by the most murderous ghouls and ghosts," she said quietly, a scheming look in her eyes. "That some nights, they hear mysterious screams coming from inside."

"Like we haven't had enough scares from our own deceased population lately," Albus laughed.

"You've a point, there." Sighing, she leaned against the fence surrounding the premises. "Would be wicked to have a look inside, though."

"Suppose so."

"Want to check it out?"

"What?!" He glanced up and down the street. "But- what are you talking about?"

"Come on," she laughed, grasping his arm and pulling him toward the locked gate. "Let's just try and get in, can't hurt!"

"What if it does? I mean, the sign says 'KEEP OUT', if anybody catches us-"

She rolled her bright hazel eyes at him. "Are you a man or not? That's what makes it fun! Come on, just for a bit!"

"W-ell..."

The whole thing seemed rather pointlessly reckless to Albus, especially because he knew there wasn't so much as a single spook within its walls, yet they combed nearly every inch of the Shrieking Shack's exterior, prying at boards and tapping their wands on the doors to no avail. Albus was forcibly reminded of the thousands of times he and Rose had sought out the unknowns of Grimmauld Place, and almost began to wish he were doing that, instead - at least it was indoors.

"So," Albus asked her as they tried to uproot a rather gnarled bush, "I don't want to look a gift-Moore in the mouth, but... why'd you ask me out?"

"Come again?" she said, wiping snow from her eyes where the branches had dropped it on her.

"I just mean, well... why me? I know Martin Finnigan's after your affections, for one."

"Oh, really?" she chortled. "I hadn't noticed, even though he practically proposed to me during our last Quidditch game."

Albus laughed as well. "Right, well, there's got to be a dozen other guys who're better catches, and I bet they'd all say 'yes'."

He hadn't meant this to be quite as heavy-handed a compliment as it was, and the precise shade of scarlet she turned threatened to spread to his own features. "What can I say? Ever since you stood up for that weird girl on the Express, I... er, I began to notice what a decent guy you are."

It was right around that point that their casual date became all too complicated for Albus's head. While he felt flattered to the point of giggling stupidly, he also couldn't ignore the fact that she'd just called Jezabel "that weird girl", which said her attitude toward the newest Gryffindor hadn't changed in the slightest. At the same time, here was Wendelyne bearing her feelings in front of God and everyone, and he was preoccupied with someone else - though that was complicated in and of itself. For the first time in a long while, he asked himself why he actually did care so much about Jezabel Skirrow - what had she really done for him?

That selfish thought snapped him out of it; it didn't matter what she had or hadn't done for him. She had been painfully polite to everyone who spoke to her, even people who wished her harm, and all they did was take more shots at her. Her greatest desire was to not be persecuted, and the wizarding world not only couldn't grant her that one, simple wish, but made it its business to ensure it didn't come true.

Though he knew what he had to do, gazing down into Wendelyne's normally-confident features that at the moment looked so fragile did nothing to steel his resolve. He found it difficult to swallow. "Erm, about that day... Wendelyne, why did you say what you said?"

She seemed utterly confused, as he thought she might be. "What I... what did I say?"

"About Jezabel... twice now, I heard you say that it's just like her to do strange or bad things. Well... why is it like her to do that?"

Actually, she hadn't looked confused at all before compared to her current expression. "I don't- why does she do bad things? I don't know, why don't you ask her?"

"No, not why does she- I mean, has she ever done anything? Stolen things, or hurt people? Anything specific you remember?"

"I don't know," she repeated dismissively. "People talk, but... anyway, what's this have to do with today?"

"Wendelyne," he gusted, sitting down on the Shack's front steps heavily, "I've been noticing this horrible... I don't know, pattern lately. With Jezabel. I mean, me and Rose are the only ones who seem to notice it, but... it's as if nobody really cares that she's alive. Like she's some dirty great house-elf who should either obey or be destroyed, and she doesn't have any feelings or anything."

"But... but she's a Slytherin," she said, as if this settled the matter. "Or she was, anyway. Merlin, everybody's so confused how that messy freak got moved into Gryffindor - I mean, what on earth do you have to do to change Houses? It has to be a first, it's-"

"Careful what you say about her," he said flatly.

"Why?" A moment passed, and he didn't answer; finally, she said, "You know, I heard somebody say they'd seen you talking to her before... have you been?"

He stared into snow around his trainers. "Once or twice."

"Whoa... so, what's she like?"

"Nice, in fact. Not at all 'scurvy'."

The word triggered in Wendelyne the same awful memory it did for Albus, and she began to look crestfallen. "Oh. And I-"

"You did."

Albus didn't want to see her anymore at that moment, much less see her upset. Somehow, he'd thought this part would be the easiest, when he'd effectively ended their afternoon together by telling her off for being mean to Jezabel, but he had been dead wrong; he'd rather stab himself in the foot than continue pressing the point.

"B-but- but she'd stolen-"

"She hadn't, either, and I think you knew it." He tried to keep the anger out of his expression, not wanting to rub any more salt in the wound than was absolutely necessary. "That girl would never hurt so much as a fly, and all she really wants is to be left alone. But people keep picking on her because it's easy. I mean, maybe she's not very personable, but... that's no excuse to use her for target practise."

The lump in her throat held a defiant tone. "You're telling me this like- like I was roughing her up all the time, like I'm some sort of c-creep who picks on innocent people for laughs."

"No, you're a normal witch who's doing it because everybody else is. Don't you see? The worst part of all is that... it's not really your fault." He now turned to stare directly into her shimmering eyes. "But that doesn't mean you're blameless if you don't stop. So, please... just..."

"Stop," she echoed, nodding vaguely. "Guess I'll have to, knowing you'll be looking out for her."

"Why don't people like her?" he mused aloud. "What is it that makes them want to hurt her without provocation? Is it the hygene issue, is that the whole reason?"

"No," Wendelyne spoke up, wiping her eyes and attempting to regain some semblance of dignity. "Hate me though you must for saying so, that girl really could do with a long bath, but... she also just acts strange. Like she's from another planet and in constant communication, y'know? She's the very picture of stand-offish."

"Wendelyne, I'm sorry," he said in a rush, realising all too late that he didn't mean to be saying this. "You asked me out, and I didn't like the way you treat people, but I said 'yes' to find out more about why you do that. That was an awful thing to do, I'm sorry, it... I feel like such a manipulator, like I used our date to dig for dirt. All this stuff with Jezabel, and the ghosts, and... It's not that I don't like you, I do-"

"Please, don't." She was bravely trying to laugh it off, which was almost yet more sad than when she was crying. "Didn't really think this would end well, but couldn't hurt to give it a go, right? Sorry if I wasted your Saturday, Albus."

"N-no, wait, don't run off like-"

But Wendelyne wasn't listening anymore; she was already swinging the gate open and heading off into the village.

"One of these days, I'm going to figure out how to actually get along with women," he told the dead bush that was now his only companion. "Y'know, so they don't end up hating me as they run away. Yeah, that'll be great."

o o o

"You are, without a doubt, the world's biggest idiot, Al."

"Thank you for your kind assessment, Rose."

She chuckled, raising the tankard to her mouth and taking a long draught before saying, "At least you're not so thick you're trying to disagree."

"No, no, I know I botched the whole thing." Sighing, Albus looked around at all the other perfectly happy couples in the Three Broomsticks, holding hands and gazing at each other longingly. "A date is not the time to start discussing some other girl, no matter the reason. Lesson learned."

"About that, mate..." It took very minimal effort for him to pick up on the fact that she'd been wanting to drop whatever bomb she was now loading up for quite some time. "Don't you think, maybe, you're getting just a tad too preoccupied with Jezzy's plight?"

"Well, let me put it this way... yes. Yes, I am."

Rose blinked, surprised at the quickness with which he answered. "Oh."

"No, I understand, Rose; I mean, I still want to help her out, but I need to stop making it my personal mission, I'd wager. Shouldn't have let this happen."

After a moment's strained silence, Rose said, "Eh, Wendelyne'll be fine, I expect. She's a lot tougher than she- well, actually she looks fairly tough, as well."

"So you're saying that if I'd done this to someone like Dorika Dunsmore, I'd have earned the right to be crucified upside-down for my crimes?"

"Possibly. I mean, Dorika's got the emotional fortitude of a wet paper serviette."

"Too true. Seriously, though, when you're trying so hard to help one person that you start hurting others, it's time to back off a bit."

"Yeah. And speaking of hurting others..." A quick scan up and down the pub. "Any new thoughts on our transparent friends?"

"Well..." He'd been specifically wishing she wouldn't ask this question, as the last thought to come to him on the subject was perhaps the most dubious yet, but now he couldn't avoid the topic any longer. "Actually, it's funny you should mention Dorika, because - what if she's our villain?"

Rose stared at him for nearly a full minute before saying, "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, Belvina has always been horrible toward Dorika," he continued, squirming. "Every time we see them together, Belvina's screaming, and Dorika's moping, or else turning on the waterworks. If anybody has a reason to get revenge-"

"But- Merlin, Al, we're talking about Darling Dewy Dunsmore, the sugar queen! Do you really believe she'd be capable of that kind of evil?"

"Hey, look at my angelic sister; there are scars on my back from the time she hit me with that wonky hex, and she _still_ won't tell me what it was."

Her rolling eyes said she was scarcely tolerating this line of thought. "All right, so we can't judge on appearances, but that's only- why'd she attack Larkins, then? What's she ever done to Dorika to earn her wrath?"

"That's true... hmm, hadn't thought of that. Guess we'll have to ask her."

_END Chapter Twenty-Two_


	23. Poor Aim

Perhaps his latest theory of who might be subjugating the Hogwarts ghosts wasn't his best thought-out, but he wished Elizabeth Larkins wouldn't have laughed in his face when he brought it up.

"Pur _-lease_ , Albus, have you ever _met_ Dorika?"

"No, hear me out," he whispered, glancing up at where Professor Flitwick was trying to correct Wayne Elphinstone's over-zealous wand movements. "I just want to know if you've done anything to her lately that might put you on her list; shoved her down the stairs, or- I dunno, anything?"

"Nothing I can think of, and I certainly didn't shove her down any-" She paused there to show Flitwick how well she'd progressed with making her teacup sprout legs and walk; it stood well enough, but once it started across the tabletop it held a slight limp, which he shook his head at. Albus would have killed to do that well, only managing to make his cup grow legs so short they looked more like it were a second-year trying to develop his beard.

"Why do you suspect her?" she asked when their teacher had moved along.

"She and Belvina had a row a few weeks back," said Albus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rose was listening intently, as well. "Dorika accidentally - er, let's just say it's not a tale for the squeamish."

"Yeah, the impaling - heard about that." Elizabeth shivered. "So you think Dorika was so upset she went after her through old Binns? That's cracked..."

"I know, it probably isn't her, she... just thought I'd ask."

"Well..." She stared at her teacup for several moments before saying, "Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone."

In Albus's opinion, Rose did a poor job of concealing her eagerness. "Who, me?"

Eyeing Aqua Rankin's perking ears just a few seats along, Elizabeth hissed, "Meet me down the forbidden corridor; should be able to hang around in there long enough to tell you before Urran shows up and chucks us out."

As soon as the bell rang, the greater number of the students headed for the staircases, chattering and sharing a laugh in their precious time between classes. Albus and Rose, however, ducked behind a tapestry until the hallway had mostly emptied, then made for the old corridor that had been marked as off-limits to all students for over thirty years. As they swung the heavy oaken door closed, they heard a voice say, "Did anybody follow you?"

"Of course not," said Albus. "What's this-"

"You have to promise you won't go blabbing this all over the school," she demanded. "I know a decent hex or two, so you'd better not!"

"We promise," Rose answered immediately. "Now, why are we skulking around in here?"

"Because I don't want anybody else finding out what Dorika did - I don't even want to tell at all, but you two don't usually spread gossip around like that."

"What'd she do?" Albus asked her. "Did she hurt you?"

"Eh? No, no I mean she found out something, the exact thing I'm about to spill for reasons I don't quite understand," she grunted.

"Spill, then!"

"Well... she caught me... er, I was being..."

" _What?!_ "

"Oh, I change my mind, I can't do this!" Even in the low light from the flickering torches in their brackets, they could see the beads of sweat forming on her smooth forehead. "Look, the whole point is that in her annoyingly-sweet way, she kept giving me so much grief that I finally hit her with the Tongue-Tying Curse, so if you'll please forget I said anything I'd like to get to Transfiguration!"

They hadn't even time to gather a rebuttal before they found themselves alone in the dreary forbidden corridor, not entirely sure the conversation had ended.

"Well, there's your motive," said Rose as they approached the Transfiguration classroom themselves. "I've read about the Tongue-Twisty before somewhere, and there's no breaking it - not unless you're a massively-skilled witch or wizard, and Dorika's just an ickle third-year. How'd you like to hear some juicy tidbit, then get hit by a spell that makes it to where you can never tell anyone about it?"

"Yeah, but that's equally abnormal; where'd Elizabeth learn a curse like that? Thought she was a charter member of the straight and narrow."

"You never can tell with people."

He smirked. "Like how they might know the Disillusioning Charm?"

"Disillusion _ment_ Ch- oh, shut it."

o o o

The morning of Albus's second Quidditch game was clear and beautiful, save for the biting cold. Glad at least for the relatively-still winds and decent visibility, he and his father's Firebolt arrived in the locker room just in time to hear Olivia complaining that he hadn't shown up yet.

"There you are," she shot nastily in his direction. "Hurry up and get your robes on, we've got about ten minutes!"

"Sorry, I was only- thought I might get a cup of tea before-"

"I don't need you thinking until you get out on the field; up to then, how about some unswerving obedience?!"

Preferring to make it out of the locker room alive, Albus threw his team robes on and pelted out onto the pitch after his teammates, hoping he hadn't put them on inside out or anything equally stupid. He became aware, with a pang of guilt, that Wendelyne Moore was still determinedly showing him the back of her - which wasn't really what one would call visually displeasing, but in this case the underlying reason she wouldn't look at him killed all possible enjoyment. Maybe he would say something to her after the match - the thought terrified him, but it seemed the honourable thing to do.

"Greetings, one and all, and welcome to the exciting fourth match of the year here at Hogwarts!" Martin Finnigan's voice boomed out over the stands, drowning out the cheers and jeers of the spectators. "Ought to be a real nail-biter today; Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff! Last game out, Albus Potter caught the Snitch and Rose Weasley blocked the opposing team's Chasers at every turn, but after a horrible show of poor sportsmanship by the Slytherins, will she ever play the same again?"

"Oh, thanks loads, Finnigan," said Rose through gritted teeth. Albus sought out the Seeker he'd be playing against; she was nearly a head shorter than him with dark ringlets and rather close-set eyes, and she was grasping her broom handle in an uncertain fashion. Even as he took this in, their commentator gave him more information.

"Seeking for Hufflepuff, we have Monica Grey, who couldn't hope to catch up with fan favourite Moran in November's game, but now she's graduated from a feeble school broom to the just-released Nimbus Two-Thousand-Thirty, and she's bound to give Albus a run for his Galleons!"

"Who's side is he on?" Olivia fumed. "Somebody get him out of that box!"

"Captains, shake hands," said Madam Chang. Albus briefly wondered if she might be jealous of Wendelyne before realising not only would the referee be supremely uninterested, but also that his and Wendelyne's trip into Hogsmeade wasn't exactly enviable. He resolved to keep his head out of the clouds, even though he might be skimming them quite soon. "Mount your brooms. Ready? One, two-"

With a tweet of Madam Chang's whistle, the athletes were shooting into the sky, weaving in and out of one another and concentrating on the four balls in play.

"And right from the off, Wood's got the Quaffle, tearing down the pitch without opposit- wait, now, King's moving to intercept, but she- yes, Wood makes good use of a Porskoff Ploy, she's dropped it down to Potter - James, you know - Potter's putting it up - GRYFFINDOR SCORE! And quick as you please, Gryffindor takes an early lead! Let's just wait and see if they can keep the momentum rolling!"

"Keep the momentum rolling?" Albus called over to Rose. "He makes it sound like we're seeking the Holy Grail, doesn't he have any faith anymore?"

"Stop talking to me and find the Snitch!" she called back. "That'll shut Finnigan's cake hole!"

Nodding, he pulled up for more altitude just as Aiden McLaggen whizzed right by him, whacking a Bludger in the general direction of the Hufflepuff Chasers.

"Nearly got Galbraith there, but she's still got the- wait, no- ahh. Not a bad move by Moore, though she nearly fell to earth; kind of reckless of her, wasn't it?"

Albus almost fell off his own broom at this. What was Martin doing? Looking down, he saw Wendelyne Moore swerving this way and that, maneuvering for the opposing goal hoops, but her face was giving off enough heat to fry an egg on. Inhaling the heady smell of cold and adrenaline, he began circling the pitch, hoping to end this game before their announcer went too far.

"Moore passes to James, James back to Moore - they've got a good rhythm going there, but might not want to keep it up too long or the other team may catch on - ahh, there we go, Wood has it, she's putting it up - OHH, tough luck! Beautiful save by David Jones, just got enough of it to knock it over to where Dunsmore was waiting, and Dunsmore's moving up the pitch, she's got a clear path - no she doesn't, James is there, he's trying to tackle the Quaffle from her, but both players are having a tough time of it - FUMBLE! It's been a while since we've seen a fumble at Hogwarts, ladies and gents, but Moore's already caught it up, she's swerving right between Bones and Grey, she's putting it up, can Jones do it agai- SCORE! Gryffindor is up twenty points!"

The crowd roared, and Albus glanced around at them defiantly, hoping Finnigan would take the hint and stop defaming his own team - and froze. He readjusted his sweaty hands on his broomstick before taking another look, almost sure his strained eyes were deceiving him.

At the very top of the bleachers, two empty seats on either side of her, sat Jezabel Skirrow, wearing a slightly faded Gryffindor scarf and crossing her fingers in her lap. Though her head was moving to and fro, taking in the furious action, it seemed to him it pointed in his direction more often than the others. Had she actually come out to watch him play? Caught up in his own curiosity, he waved at her, and after several moments she also raised a delicate hand, smiling meekly.

"Potter - Albus, that is - waving at somebody up in the stands, or maybe just showing off like his brother? Can't really tell, but the Snitch hasn't yet been spotted, so maybe he shouldn't be- ooh, Weasley's missed! Hufflepuff begin to fight back, as it's twenty-ten Gryffindor!"

"Finnigan, will you stop making us sound like berks?!" Ryan shouted angrily, but apparently Martin wasn't listening.

"Wood passes to James, James to Moore, almost within scoring range but Dunsmore's trying to get - she's done it! Possibly for the first time, Dorika Dunsmore's stolen the Quaffle - tough luck, Moore, guess you're losing your touch! Dunsmore tearing up the pitch, apparently none of her opposite numbers can do anything about it, she's coming awfully close here, and - BLIMEY!"

Albus paused in his search to investigate only to witness Dorika drifting down toward the pitch, her hand clamped over her face. Seconds after she landed, she slumped forward onto the frigid grass.

"That was quite a Bludger from Macmillan, might have taken Dunsmore out of the game for good - James with the Quaffle - looks like that's Peele down there, checking her over. Is she all right? Think sh- yes, we're getting a signal up here that Dorika's going to be okay - Wood passes to - no! It's a feint, she's putting it up herself - IT'S IN! Thirty-ten Gryffindor, beginning to pull ahead again! Wow, about missed a goal there, rather distracting when one of the players gets her face blown open!"

Albus was on point of flying lower to see if it provided a better vantage point when he saw it; the Golden Snitch was only several yards away, and to his delight, it was making for his exact location. He couldn't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it as he glanced around for Grey - she was watching Dorika's plight on the grounds. Casually, almost instinctively, he reached his arm out and it flew into his hand, which closed on it quick and tight.

"James puts it up - Jones makes for - NO! Right through his arms, that was! It looks like three on two aren't good odds for the Hufflepuff Chasers as Gryffindor gains control of this match! Jones passes it out to King, let's see if-"

"OI, you stupid great prat!" Albus shouted at Finnigan. "Don't you care if the game is over?!"

Then he heard the whistle from behind him. Realising at once that he should've been showing the Snitch to Madam Chang instead of their perfidious announcer, he grinned sheepishly at her, but she did not seem to care; on the other hand, the approving smile she gave him threatened to turn his guts to jelly as she called into the stands, "GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

The red-and-gold section of the stands exploded with the force of a Blasting Curse as Albus circled the pitch, holding the tiny metal ball high above his head as he laughed into the winds. Deep in his heart, he knew he hadn't put a great deal of effort into its retrieval, but a win was a win, wasn't it? Monica Grey hadn't been paying attention, and he had; it was simple as that.

When he touched down, he was immediately bowled over by what felt like every member of Gryffindor House. Professor Longbottom himself shook his hand, also, whispering, "A nonchalant catch; very smooth." Then, once all of his teammates had hugged or nearly concussed him, he picked his way slowly over to where Dorika Dunsmore was being tended.

Her face was a bloody mess, and her nose appeared to be thoroughly broken. There were also a couple of small white objects on the ground that Albus hoped weren't teeth, but the red clinging to them made that a safe bet. It seemed she had blacked out upon reaching the safety of the ground, and was now being force-fed a Pepper-Up potion to bring her around.

"Come now, dear, it's all right," Professor Peele said quietly, spotty hands pulling gently at her face to better assess the damage. "Up you get, eh?"

Longbottom took an arm over his shoulders and Peele took the other. As they led her away, ears pouring steam, he saw her shoot a weak-but-chilling look full of contempt somewhere to his left; looking over, he saw Ryan Macmillan frown uncomfortably and bow his head.

"Hey, that's Quidditch, mate," James laughed, pounding him on the back. "She had the Quaffle, you stopped her - part of the package."

"But I wasn't even aiming at her," he said quietly. "She just happened to fly in the way; I was trying to close Finnigan's mouth for him, the stupid git."

Albus snorted, and Ryan peered over at him curiously; he quickly composed his features as if he'd never laughed at the idea of Ryan getting the better of Martin.

"That guy has some serious hexes coming his way," spat Rose, literally spitting. "I hope he knows that. What kind of a milksop rubbishes his own team through the entire game?"

"A rejected milksop." It was Wendelyne; she continued to stare in any direction but Albus's, but at least she was talking around him again. "Wish it were more complicated than this, but... he asked me to have a drink with him in the village last weekend, and I turned him down flat. Guess he's decided to hold a grudge."

"Is that all?" said Aiden, eyebrows arching in disbelief. "He nearly ruins Quidditch over _that?_ What a crap thing to- eh?"

James had nudged him, gesturing in the direction of the edge of the stands; Martin Finnigan was stomping out and toward the castle, shoulders hunched, but he stopped to glance in their direction. Seeing several pairs of eyes glaring at him, he tensed.

_"GET HIM!"_

He wasn't sure which of them had said it, but most of his teammates moved as one, both Beaters brandishing their clubs; the commentator took off at top speed, hand clutching the flat cap he was wearing to his head. Only Albus and Wendelyne remained standing among the straggling crowd, either too stunned, incensed, or downhearted to move.

"Nice catch," she said unexpectedly. The edge in her voice detracted considerably from her compliment.

"Thanks." He stared down into his hand at the Snitch for a moment before saying, "Look, Wendelyne, I wanted to tell you that I didn't come along just to harp on you about Jezabel, honestly! I, er, it... it sounded like fun, you know? And I'm sorry I ruined _your_ weekend, that was so thoughtless of me, you didn't... anyway, I'm sorry."

She was still staring determinedly at the polar lawns when Albus felt a tap on his shoulder. Whirling, almost going for his wand, he found himself face to face with Madam Chang, who was smiling sweetly.

What was she doing? Thought after unlikely thought crashed through his stupid imagination as he stared between her and Wendelyne, fighting to find his voice. Was she going to ask him out, too? Would he have both of them fighting over him? It was a fantasy fit for a king, to be sure. Could he even handle two girlfriends? Would he have to let one down easy, or would this turn into some abominable paperback novel in which the strapping lad juggles them forever, or else ends up a polygamist?

"Are you going to give me back the Snitch, Potter, or do I have to go and catch my own?"

Quickly brought in for an ungainly landing, he laughed, handing over the fluttering golden ball he had not yet released and privately deciding to take a very long, cold shower before heading up to Gryffindor Tower. Yet, she seemed to want to say something more - resolutely cutting himself off from the asinine daydream he'd just entertained, he tried to raise his eyebrows in a very casual way.

"Oh nothing, only... good show, Potter." She nodded stiffly, but flashed him yet another smile before walking by him on her way toward the castle, replacing the Snitch within the crate under her arm.

"Wow, I- Madam Chang d-doesn't usually congratulate players, does she?" he stammered.

"No, she doesn't."

Wendelyne was still there. He was loathe to admit it, but he'd forgotten all about her in the face of this bizarre behaviour from their referee, and now here they were, completely alone on the pitch. "Oh, I- and we- so anyway," he coughed. Where had all the other students gone? "Like I was-"

"Hey, you don't have to say any more." Her tone was quite flat. "You didn't really want to go out with me in the first place, I understand that fine; I just sprung it on you and caught you off guard. Nice of you to try and cheer me up, though."

"No, you've got it all wrong," he lied - he hadn't specifically wanted to go out with her, but the idea had actually appealed to him when she posed it. "You're a- well, you're very- er, that is, nice-" But he was sure any snow immediately surrounding him was now melting, so he fell silent.

"Oh, really?" She finally turned to face him, and Albus saw her hazel eyes were as damp as they were spiteful. "And I should suddenly believe this... why?"

"B-because- well, I suppose there is no reason, but- but I swear there's- you're a bit of all right, you know?"

It was the best he could do on short notice. 'There should be planning committees for things like this,' he thought furiously. Then, something happened that stretched his mental capacity to cope with the events of this day to the breaking point.

Two soft, pillowy lips were pressing against his cheek. Where had those come from? And why was his vision obscured by an unruly flaxen mop?

"So are you," a husky voice sounded into his ear. It was only as she let go that he noticed arms had wrapped around him at some point, but it was too late to relish that moment, for he now had to ponder at why her form was speeding away across the lawns at an admirable pace.

"What just... I... blow me down," he gasped. No one answered.

o o o

" _There's_ the man of the hour!"

For a brief moment, Albus thought he was having a vivid flashback; then, he realised it was Aiden McLaggen speaking, not Uncle George. "What?"

"That's twice now you've won us the game!" said Olivia, beaming as the Fat Lady swung closed behind him. "I do believe I've made a fine choice!"

"Oh, hush up," he said modestly, trying not to smile as they loosed another victory cry and clapped him on the back. Gryffindor Tower was packed with students, including everyone on the team (except Wendelyne, who was mysteriously absent). Everyone was grinning from ear to ear, offering him crisps or biscuits or else Honedukes sweets. It didn't take Rose long to summon him from within the depths of the mob, laughing and tousling his hair.

"You've done it again, Al! See, I told you Creevey had nothing on my cousin!"

"Knock it off, will you?"

But he was laughing as well, and in fact found it hard to stop for the next hour, what with the unrelenting stream of butterbeers and enthralled audiences for his retelling of the catch - not that he understood why, as it had been about ninety-seven per cent serendipity. This is how he'd imagined it should have been after his first game, with Rose safe and sound beside him, alternately praising and rubbishing him, snickering all the while. Add into that equation the praise received from the flying coach herself and Wendelyne's fleeting-but-warm kiss, and he may as well have died happy right there on the spot.

"So, we're in the lead, now," James said to him nearly half an hour later. "Nice one, bro."

"Cheers, bro." Albus tried to mimic his brother's rather stiff demeanor, which only provoked him into smacking the younger sibling about the head good-naturedly a few times.

Eventually, the revelry gave way to tired yawns, and several students drifted off to bed, or down to the Great Hall to hopefully retrieve some substantial nourishment. He and Rose stretched out in their favourite squashy armchairs, sighing contentedly and welcoming a relaxed moment. The rest of the team migrated to the other side of the common room and left them to it.

"You have to admit," said Rose, propping up her feet on a vacant chair, "it's not bad enjoying a bit of glory like this, is it?"

"Not in the slightest." He began slowly rewinding the events of the day, purposefully skipping over the kiss. "Hey, what ever happened to Finnigan? Did you string him up by his nostrils and leave him to die up the Astronomy Tower?"

"No, but tempting thought," she snorted. "Actually, we lost him somewhere on the fourth floor, not sure where he got off to. Has to show his face sooner or later, though, doesn't he?"

"Sorry about that catch you missed," he said cautiously. "It isn't easy concentrating with someone telling you you're worthless throughout the entire match."

"See?!" she burst out, instantly riled. " _You_ can grasp that - Olivia kept going on about how I needed to keep my head in the game! Finnigan had been discrediting me, you, Wendelyne - it was enough to make me swear eternal vengeance, and here I'm to be faulted for letting a single goal slip by!" Sighing, she folded her arms. "But you didn't let that happen; you still caught the Snitch."

"Come off it, I tried to tell everybody: the whole thing was like being struck by lightning! I practically did a Plumpton Pass up there, it was flying straight at me!"

"The Snitch went up Plumpton's _sleeve_ \- you caught it. There was hand-clamping involved."

"I said 'practically', didn't I? Wait-" He shook his head. "Why are we arguing about this? We did the job, we're in the top spot now, why faff over it?"

"Because I missed the Quaffle!" She was glaring at her own feet, ears already beginning to glow. "I couldn't concentrate because that toss-pot was accusing you of ignoring your position and showing off, when I know you couldn't have been - you probably weren't even waving at anyone, were you?"

"Er... actually, I was."

"You were?" Rose seemed genuinely startled by this revelation. "Who?"

"Jezabel. She actually came to the match, Rose, I was so floored I couldn't help but make sure it was really her up there in the stands." He rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, it's my fault you missed-"

"No, no," she said preemptively. "Don't start down that road, it's nobody's fault but my own for getting distracted. Wood's right - not that I'd admit that, even under Veritaserum."

"Okay, okay. Maybe we'll get lucky and Martin will come down with spattergroit next game."

She grinned wickedly. "If he doesn't, I might give it to him myself; a good Furnunculus would be a reasonable facsimile..."

_END Chapter Twenty-Three_


	24. Love Is A Battlefield

For quite a bit longer than he'd been expecting, Albus was able to keep the stolen post-match peck Wendelyne had given him under wraps - a fact that was remarkable in and of itself, being that if there was anywhere secrets were not safe, it was Hogwarts, especially if the secret has anything to do with courtship of any kind. Therefore, though he groaned inwardly when it finally happened, he was not at all taken aback when it suddenly became public knowledge - but that isn't to say no one was.

 _"Al!"_ Rose shouted across the courtyard one sunny afternoon, plainly up in arms even before she elaborated. "You and Wendelyne! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Er..."

"I had to find out from Kenneth Tate, of all people - was everybody privy to it but me?!"

He reeled. "Merlin, I hope not! I don't think I could take every last person in the castle asking me about this day in, day out!" It was then he noticed how heavily she was breathing, as if she'd jogged all the way there. "Hang on, where were you when you learned this?"

Those mischievous blue eyes narrowed, as if accusing him of changing the subject on purpose. "Muggle Studies, you know that!"

"So... why are you panting like you were down in Hogsmeade?"

"Because... I went to find you in the Great Hall first, but Logan said you haven't been in there yet, so then I went up to- you know what? Let's instead talk about why Albus has taken to keeping his personal affairs so closely guarded these days!"

"Okay, remember when we discussed whether or not we should have absolutely no secrets between us? Well, I think I've found the one _big_ exception."

"You got snogged, so what?" Though she looked away as she said it.

"Aha! I knew it, I knew it wouldn't just be me - makes you feel a bit weird, too, doesn't it?"

"Oh, what of it? Point is, you two are lucky; especially if you do all right from here on in, but I mean, so far so good, right? Meanwhile, I'm the one who's being left in the dark! That's pretty cold of you, y'know!"

Her gaze was still pointed determinedly away from him, and he waited a significant amount of time before asking, "Rose Nymphadora Weasley, are you- are you faintly jealous?"

 _"WHAT?!"_ She was certainly looking at him now, and what a look it was; eyebrows so close to her hairline they blended right in, mouth hanging open. "That's- you're- _no!_ What on- can't believe you'd- _Al!_ "

"Well, you act that way!" A distressing thought came to him. "Wait... you couldn't be, because then I'd be-"

 _"That's_ not even funny," she said immediately, sensing his thought patterns even before he'd fully recognised what they meant; he shuddered, flesh crawling. Without warning, she took off at a brisk walk, probably to try and discharge some of the odd tension. "I'm... okay, fine, if we must use the word 'jealous', I'm jealous of _you._ "

"Really?" Now that they had put one truly unsettling idea to rest, he could have fun with this again. "I didn't know you thought of Wendelyne that way."

"You _want_ to be hexed, don't you? Is this some new masochistic tendency you're feeling out?" Gritting her teeth, she said, "You got to be the first of us, lunkhead. Y'know, the first who went on a... and then had a..."

"Boy, did I have a..."

Her ears were already pink enough from discussing this sort of thing with a close family member, and reddened further at his last comment; Albus had a feeling if it had been anyone but him, her throat would have closed as a defense mechanism long ago. "What I'm trying to say here, Albie, is that it's almost like you got to grow up first. Like you left me behind."

"Oh, is that all?" He tutted, bumping into her with his shoulder. "Talking nonsense, you know."

She snorted distractedly. "I know, but... I can't help it, that's how it feels. And it's not like I wanted to be first, like it was some mad race, but I still felt I lost anyway. D'you understand?"

"Not in the slightest." When her mouth dropped open again, he laughed, "Yes, I mean, yes! Sorry."

"Lunkhead," she repeated.

"But come off it, you'll be asked out sooner or later, yeah? Won't be long before we're on equal footing again."

"Who says I haven't been asked out?"

It was Albus's turn to be caught unawares, nearly stumbling. "What? But- but when did this-"

"A couple of days before you got asked," she said, her entire face threatening to out-crimson her hair. "Some third-year, can't remember his name - don't really fancy him, that's a cert, so I told him to get lost. Unlike some boys who will go out with people they actively dislike..."

"Hey!"

Allowing herself a healthy cackle, she stopped to lean back against the statue of the nameless hero of wizardkind, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Speaking of... what's your next move?"

"Move...?"

"With Wendelyne! Not that I want to think about this, but she's planted one on you - isn't it your turn to at least broach the subject?"

Albus's stomach began to flutter as he realised how stupid he'd been; this was coming all along, and he was woefully underprepared. A vast plane of imposing possibilities sprung up before him, ploys and clever turns of phrase that could just as equally woo her as backfire and leave him looking like an inept clot.

"Al, you okay?"

"Sure, just... since when was there all this cotton in my mouth?"

Rose sighed dramatically, walking over to snag his neck with her elbow and pull her toward him. "Poor little Albie, hasn't a clue what to do with his new female friend! Guess I'll just have to play Cyrano, won't I?"

"No!" he responded instinctively; as it dawned on him exactly how involved she meant to become, a sense of foreboding spread through him like ice-water. "Please, I- I can handle this myself, seriously, let-"

"Of course you can," she told him in a mock-baby voice.

o o o

Rose did indeed make good on her promise to guide Albus through the murky waters of love, though for all he could determine she was steering him straight into the mouth of Hell itself. Albus didn't much see the point, as Wendelyne somehow circumvented Hogwarts's anti-Disapparition charms whenever he came within a thirty-foot radius of her, but Rose insisted that they need only find the right way to approach her and he could win the fair maiden over. Every day, between and during classes, and moreso at mealtimes and before Quidditch practise, she bounced a myriad of inane schemes off him, each one sounding more dangerous or humiliating than the last.

"Why in Merlin's name would I dress up as cupid?!"

"No, listen, I was thinking about this during practise last night," she gushed excitedly. "You get this toga, see, and I'm sure we can find an old bow and arrow around here somewh-"

 _"No!_ A thousand times, no, I will not - it's all I need for Scorpius and the Slytherins to hear I've been parading about the castle in a glorified nappy!"

"But I've got the beginnings of a poem, still eking it out, it's great, listen: 'Wendelyne, Wendelyne, fairest hair I've ever seen; her eyes are like the dawn, it's true, I'd l-'"

_"Forget it!"_

As the rest of February flowed imperceptibly into the beginning of March, their schoolwork brought new meaning to the word "toil", and eventually Rose's plotting grew more sparse as they renewed their concentration on their studies. This isn't to say there weren't other distractions, including the astounding prowess both Wendelyne and Jezabel showed at staying out of sight (Albus wondered if they were using the same methods), the fact that neither staff member nor student had the barest inkling of what was making the ghosts go haywire, and why Ryan Macmillan sought more and more opportunities to bother Albus. All of these things combined threatened to force them into repeating fifth year.

"We have to do something," said Rose fretfully one night. "This blasted Care of Magical Creatures essay - I didn't think we even _did_ essays in Magical Creatures, can Hagrid even read them, anyway?!"

Albus was so surprised at her he dropped his quill, blotting his own essay. " _Rose!_ "

Squirming ashamedly, she stuck her nose deep into the Monster Book Of Monsters - which Albus thought wasn't exactly wise. "I didn't mean that... blimey, that was low of me, I apologise. But this stress is driving me up the walls!"

Evidently, the stress was also getting to Jocasta O'Quin, who began complaining of terrible itchy rashes later that week. Many wondered if her contagion had come back, but Madam Pomfrey quashed those rumours by blustering, "You can't _RELAPSE_ into _spattergroit!_ " at a worried group of Ravenclaw second-years.

Unfortunately, the same nerves seemed to be manifesting themselves in other students differently - among them being Lily's two lovelorn friends, Tanith Moon and Kayla Sylvanus. These co-conspirators decided to confront Wendelyne out on the lawns one Sunday afternoon after an unwelcome, impromptu Quidditch practise Olivia had called to try out her new strategies, which Albus thought ached as much as their old strategies. Luck was not on their side, however; they had been waiting for her just outside the locker room door, thinking her to be the last one out, and Albus had bent down to do up his shoelace just inside it.

"We'd like a word with you," the voice of Kayla informed her in crisp tones.

"Oh, really?" said Wendelyne coldly.

"Albus Potter." That would be Tanith. Albus could feel his face growing hot already, but he remained calm enough to freeze on the spot, listening intently and not daring make a sound.

"Yeah?" A snort of derision - Wendelyne. "What about him?"

"It's not fair, you tying him up like this when you're obviously not really interested!" Kayla accused her. "Why not let someone else have a go?"

'If only there were some way to crawl back into the showers unnoticed,' he thought miserably.

"'Have a go'? I hadn't realised Albus was a school broom we're supposed to be sharing." In spite of the situation, he couldn't help but grin - that was a sharp one.

"You don't deny you're leading him on, then!"

"I didn't confirm it, either," Wendelyne growled. "What do you know about it, anyway?"

"We've seen the looks you keep giving each other," said Tanith. "And what about that Hogsmeade weekend? You went into the village together!"

"We _are_ both on the House team, you know. Can't fellow athletes enjoy a conversation without the wide wizarding world losing their heads?"

"But he's much too exquisite to keep all for yourself!" Albus would have done anything in the world to unhear Kayla's passionate words, but it was far, far too late - and it soon became clear they weren't at all finished. "Those breathtaking eyes!"

"The way his hair always looks like he's just been for a jog," said Tanith dreamily.

Kayla laughed wickedly. "Wish he would - I love it when he gets all worked up, it's so cute! Remember when he caught us fighting over the quill? Ooh, seeing him sweat like that, I could have-"

"All right, that's enough from the fan club," said Wendelyne. "There can be no denying he's a beautiful man, but he's... kind of spoken for."

"Which is so _horrible_ of you!" shouted Tanith unexpectedly - it was the first time Albus could ever recall hearing the girl raise her voice. "He's barely sixteen, can't you let him window shop a while longer before you tie him down?"

"Wouldn't mind seeing him tied down, either," came Kayla's bawdy comment, which nearly made Albus gasp aloud. Much worse was the way all three of them giggled, and he was busy biting his knuckles to keep from doing anything silly when Wendelyne managed speech again.

"A worthy fantasy, but there's someone... I don't know who, but she must be one incredible witch."

"What are you talking about?" said Tanith through the last of her giggles. "I've never seen him with anybody but you."

"Nor have I, but... but there's a girl out there who's caught all of his attentions. I can feel it."

Kayla seemed to be having a hard time processing her words. "So you and he, you're not... but we heard you kissed him!"

"Well, that may or may not be true," she replied evasively.

"Oh, come off it - did it happen or not?"

But apparently Wendelyne had set off for the castle, as their indignant cries slowly began to fade. Finally, when they had grown entirely silent, Albus breathed a huge gust of relief and slumped against the wall, clutching his heart. 'They're mental,' he thought, 'they have to be - why are they all so fixated on me?'

At the same time, however, he thought he oughtn't be so shocked; he wasn't necessarily ugly, and every bloke had to be fancied by _some_ women in their lives or else the human race would die out. Why was it so strange three vivacious young things had warmed up to him in the same year? But this optimistic (and ego-feeding) logic didn't truly convince him, and he replayed their conversation in his mind, trying his absolute best not to dwell on the lewdest parts and concentrate instead on the information he'd gleaned.

Wendelyne was of the opinion that he fancied someone else. Who? Albus found himself praying earnestly that she wasn't thinking of Madam Chang, and that the annoyingly persistent rumours about he and Rose didn't play any part, either. Beyond those, he was very much in the dark. More importantly, he needed to find a way to convince her otherwise; not only was she comely, but the sparse time they had spent together had been nice, possibly "felt right", and he'd like to explore that. In addition, the way she had just defended his honour made him yet more fond of the Chaser than before - maybe she wasn't perfect, but a good egg, really. He wanted to have another try at going out; why didn't she?

o o o

Without revealing the full extent of its contents and thereby causing all the blood vessels in his face to rupture, Albus related what he'd accidentally eavesdropped on to Rose that evening in the library while they failed to pour over their Divination and Muggle Studies homework, respectively.

"And that's all they said?" said Rose suspiciously; so much for creative editing.

"More or less, and do us a favour and drop it," he muttered. "The point is... all three of them are taken with me for whatever reason, but now Wendelyne's told them I like some mystery girl that doesn't exist. What am I supposed to do about this mess?"

"Right, then," she said, pulling out a sheaf of blank parchment and writing 'ALBIE'S INAMORATAS' across the top in her loopy handwriting. "Let's break this down and attack the easiest bits first. Kayla - what do we know about her?"

"W-well," he said uncomfortably, watching Rose's quill intently. "She's got dark hair, right? Usually in pigtails... sort of upturned nose-"

"No, I mean about her personality! Merlin, Al, you really are a man, aren't you?"

"Oi!" He grunted thoughtfully, stung by her comment. "Kayla, Kayla Sylvanus... well, she hangs around with Tanith and Lily all the time. Never spoken to her much myself. Should we ask Lily more about them?"

"Are you off your trolley?!" she hissed, eyes popping. "Let slip to Lily you're onto them and you'll be fielding it from all sides before you can blink!"

"But Lily won't want to talk to them about this, either," said Albus confidently. "I know I'd rather throw myself off the Astronomy Tower than help Joseph Moran bag my own sister."

Rose pondered that for a moment. "Y'know, that's fairly sound reasoning; your discussing it with me isn't doing wonders for my digestion, I can tell you. But wouldn't that also mean she'd do her nut if you brought it up at all?"

Albus glanced over her shoulder, smiling faintly. "Let's find out. Psst! Lily!"

"What?" Rose hissed. "No way, she can't be right behind- that's- oh, bollocks."

It took a few more tries to get Lily's attention without rousing the ire of Madam Pince, but she eventually slipped away from the table where she was discussing something quietly with Nathaniel Peasegood, a rather gangly boy in her year. When he saw the direction she was headed, he jumped and rushed out of the library, robes flapping wildly.

"What's his problem?" Albus asked.

"Never you mind," Lily shot at him, glancing at Rose. She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. "What do you want?"

"Well... perhaps you'd better sit." When she had, he leaned over and whispered, "Have er... that is... wow, Rose, you were right, this is odd."

"Have Kayla and Tanith been whispering sweet nothings to each other about Albus lately?" said Rose bluntly, gazing at the ceiling.

"Er," Lily echoed her brother, also displeased at being forced to discuss this; her freckles seemed to darken. "Y-yeah, maybe. I've been trying to blank most of it out."

"What, then?!" they said in unison, leaning in.

"Oh, must I?" she pouted. "It's bad enough having to hear it in the first place!"

"Come on, just get it over with," Rose encouraged her, quill scratching away already. "We're trying to make sense of Albus's situation, here; we need some solid clues."

She continued to squirm. "Well... there've been lots of things. They talk about how great you are at Quidditch, and your 'looks'-" she threw in a "pah" here Albus could have done without "-and how your marks are high but not the highest, which apparently means you're clever but not a workaholic, and therefore 'perfect steady material'. Shall I go on?"

"If you like," said Albus pleasantly; once he got past the fact his sister was telling him these things, they were quite flattering, and he didn't mind basking in it. Meanwhile, Lily continued to look greener.

"Let's see... they did say something yesterday about pinning you down, taking an entire bottle of chocolate syrup and squir-"

 _"OKAY!"_ said Rose, quite louder than she intended as Albus lapsed into a coughing fit. _"Enough's enough!"_

"I quite agree!" hissed Madam Pince from behind a bookcase. "You will please keep it down or remove yourselves from the library at once!"

"Yes, Ma'am," they blurted in unison, slumping down in their seats.

The three of them spent a great deal longer discussing this than Albus had imagined possible, and their summit was punctuated by a wealth of uneasy moments and revelations that should have been left unrevealed. By the time it was all over they'd reached a conclusion that only made him regret ever having asked for advice from either relation - and been chucked out of the library in the process.

"Both at once?!" he said at last, stopping in his tracks halfway along the Fat Lady's corridor. "Of all the- I'm not that kind of wizard!"

" _Tell_ both of them at once," she clarified, eyes squeezed shut. "What a pig."

"That's your amazing plan?" he snorted, still feeling lightheaded at the briefly-pondered prospect.

"It is!" said Rose defiantly.

"Weak; I think your first plan was better."

"Come on, you git, they're both coming at this from the same direction; it'll spare you having to do it twice."

"But Rose, then there's two of them to attack me!"

"They're not going to attack you," Lily sighed impatiently.

"Actually, they might," Rose conceded, frowning. "Kayla and Tanith? Wouldn't put it past them. Fine, I'll hide somewhere, and you can bring them to the spot to do the deed, so if things get out of-"

"Oh, no," he told her hurriedly, waving a hand in front of him as if to ward off a Dark creature. "I'd prefer you weren't there to hear that."

"Listen to him," said Lily in a monotone. "You'll thank us later."

"Hang on... you're having me on."

"Hmm?"

Albus held up the parchment Rose had been taking notes on for Lily, pointing to the last section. "Look at what she's got down for me to approach Wendelyne: 'Ask her to go for a walk.' This is the best you can do?"

Rose was almost shouting now. "It doesn't help when somebody defenestrates all your other ideas! The toboggan, the cupid, the pack of owls-"

"Those were horribly embarrassing notions, Rose! What was that one about running through the school starkers, singing an ancient Weird Sisters song and waving a ribbon like-?"

"Okay, okay, that wasn't my greatest. But the photograph with you lounging tastefully in magenta-"

"Shh," Lily whispered. "D'you hear that?"

They squinted into the dark shadows of the corridor, straining to hear anything, but all was silent. "Is it the sound of your brain trying to function?" Albus whispered. "You might try a Lubrication Charm to get those rusty gears moving agai-"

" _Shh!_ " It was Rose this time, and she pointed toward a dark branching corridor down which Albus had seldom ventured. Shrugging at the two girls, he drew his wand, muttered "Lumos!" and led the way, searching out the source of the disturbance.

"I think this is it," he said superfluously when they reached the quaking suit of armour. Not that it was terribly unusual for plate mail to move of its own accord at Hogwarts, but the suits didn't usually rattle loud enough to be noticed from a great distance, and they'd never heard anything at all from this particular section of the castle. Steeling his resolve, Albus renewed his grip on his wand, reached a trembling hand out and raised the visor.

"Hllph!" a muffled cry bade them, straw-coloured hair almost hiding the being's wide eyes completely. "I cnnh ghhd hnnnt!"

"Holy hippogriffs," breathed Albus. "Ryan?!"

_END Chapter Twenty-Four_


	25. Breakdowns

In days of yesteryear (literally meaning the year previous), Albus Potter would have been thrilled at the scene laid out so beautifully before him. Here was the boy who took every available opening for a snide comment, every opportunity to tear Albus down and make him feel small, trapped and entirely helpless. Despite his worry for Ryan Macmillan's safety, a momentary thrill of glee ran +down his spine, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Well, well, well," he began. "This is a very interesting situation."

"How the hell did you end up in there?" Rose laughed.

The suit of armour continued to shudder violently as Albus, Rose and Lily gawped at the visor, both amused and intrigued. Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Nhmmvrmhnnd thhd! Zhzzt ghhd mh hhhnt!"

"How?" Albus tried prising the helmet loose, but it was stuck tight. "This isn't working, here!"

"Hngh whnnght phnt hrrh bhh-"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" said Rose, now wiggling a knee joint with no success. "It's not like we have the foggiest what you're saying behind that thing, and you're only distracting our thoughts."

"Though I'm all for pouring some bubotuber pus down the back and leaving him to it," Albus chuckled. Ryan's glare had doom written all over it.

"Wait," Lily whispered. "Let's see, how did that one go? Oh, I only just read it a few weeks ago, it's such a simple incantation, but..."

"We could go get Urran," Rose said without real conviction. "We'd have a spiffing time explaining the situation, though."

"That's it - I remember, hang on!" Swishing her wand, Albus's sister cried out, _"Expelloricatus!"_

Metal flew in all directions, bouncing off the children's legs and arms, which they had used to shield themselves the moment they'd realised what was going to happen. Albus dreaded the nasty bruises he'd surely be feeling in the morning.

"Oh, thank Merlin you found me!" Ryan gasped, falling to his hands and knees. "It must have been hours, thought I'd be in there for days before-"

"Now that we've freed you from your Sunday best," Rose interrupted, "d'you mind explaining how you jumped in there from no visible entry point and couldn't get back out?"

"Well, I don't know," he muttered, rubbing his stiff neck as Lily helped him to his feet. "The last thing I recall is someone whispering 'Stupefy', though, so that might be why I'm drawing a blank."

Albus was thinking hard. "Where were you?"

"The fifth floor." When Albus swore loudly, he asked, "What, is that the wrong answer?"

Without realising it, Albus began pacing up and down the hallway, poking at his chin with his wand. "If you'd been in the common room, or better yet your dormitory, we could safely say another Gryffindor had done this. Even if you were on the West side of the seventh floor, it would nominate a Ravenclaw, which might help, but..."

"But the fifth floor is pretty common territory," Rose finished hopelessly.

"Do you reckon it's the same person?" Ryan asked keenly. "You know, that's jerking around the school ghosts?"

"Could be... could be another prank." Albus sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "There's an awful lot of pranking going around these days."

"Maybe the banshee-"

"It was Jezabel Skirrow all along," he informed him anticlimactically. When all he got by way of a response was Ryan's dumbfounded stare, Albus nodded. "Yep. There never was a banshee at all, she was just out for some fresh air."

"Whaaat?" Ryan blinked, his head shaking slightly. "In the Forbidden Forest? Didn't think it was especially fresh in there, myself."

"Who cares about the quality of air in the Forest right now?" said Rose. "We've got another ghost attack on our hands, and it can't be the banshee if there isn't one, so-"

"Professor Longbottom."

The other three turned toward Lily. "What?" Albus asked her, not believing his ears - how could she accuse their Head of House?

"You have to go to Professor Longbottom! This is another attack, right? The teachers should know what's going on, shouldn't they?"

Even as Ryan began nodding, coming around to her opinion, Albus and Rose exchanged skeptical glances. Neville Longbottom was a dear friend of the family, loyal Gryffindor, learned Herbology teacher and stand-up bloke, but none of the staff had proven remotely useful in putting a stop to the attacks within their school. Albus knew by the reflection on Rose's features that she agreed; Professor Longbottom might be glad of their information, but what use could he make of it?

"Let's go!" Lily cried, actually tugging at Rose's sleeve.

"Oh, all right," Albus sighed. "Probably won't do us any good, but we can try him."

Together, the four Gryffindors tromped down the stairs and directly to Professor Longbottom's doors, Rose taking charge and knocking loudly. "Professor!"

"Yes, what is it?" he answered, blinking bemusedly down at the group gathered at his doorstep.

"There's been another, er... happening," said Albus.

"What?" He looked over their shoulders, drawing his wand, jaw set. "Show me."

"Well... we've already sorted it."

That made him blink. "Eh?"

By the time they had finished with their story, the trio of fifth-years and solitary third-year were seated around the professor's desk in chairs he had produced from his wandtip. Longbottom poured them each a steaming cup of tea just as Ryan was describing the attack.

"A Stunner?" he asked, replacing the pot on its tray. "Hmm, that is unusual. I shouldn't think many of our younger students know that spell, and one would hope the older students wouldn't resort to such tactics for the sake of a joke."

"Professor, are you saying it could be... an adult?" Albus said carefully.

"Oh," Longbottom breathed, horrified. "Hadn't featured that - think I liked it better when a student was hexing another student." Recovering quickly, he glared down at him sternly. "That's not to say I suspect any of our staff members, and neither should you, Mr Potter. Both the Headmistress and the Board of Governors interview all new and old hires rigorously at the start of every year."

"It could still be Peeves," he continued hurriedly. "Or one of the Slytherins, or-" But for some reason, he hesitated. Implicating Dorika Dunsmore had seemed like an easy thing to do in front of his classmates, his peers - but tattling on her to an authority figure, especially if she were innocent...

"Yes?"

"Or I don't know," he finished lamely. "Sorry, I just feel so useless."

Longbottom sighed, leaning back in his chair with his teacup. "I've been feeling that way ever since Mr Logan happened to stand under a falling chandelier, Albus. Doesn't mean we won't reach the bottom of this eventually. But unfortunately, there's something I must ask you now I've got you here."

"What's that, sir?" Rose asked.

But before he spoke again, he pointed his wand at the door, which flew open. "Ms Potter, Mr Macmillan, if you would..." When they had left, shooting questioning looks at everyone as they went, he leaned forward again, eyes piercing both Rose and Albus in turn. "Do either of you know more than you're letting on about these attacks?"

Albus couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What?"

"Do either of you know anything else? Anything at all?"

"Excuse me, sir," said Rose, the "sir" not quite as respectful as it had been a moment ago. "Are you trying to say we might be behind this?"

"The other staff members certainly think so," he gusted, relaxing slightly. "The pair of you have a pretty shoddy track record with Mr Macmillan, and Mr Logan, for that matter. Loathe though I am to admit this, but I've even entertained the notion a time or two, myself."

"I- I-" Albus could scarcely form words - had their Head of House truly lost faith in them?

"Elizabeth Larkins has got on your bad sides before," Longbottom continued determinedly. "I seem to remember a redheaded second-year sending her to the hospital wing with corn stalks shooting out of her ears - or am I thinking of another Rose Weasley?"

Rose's own ears glowed presently. "But that was ages ag-"

"Much though students think we teachers don't pay attention to idle gossip, we do. Belvina Hitchens has lost Hufflepuff several points from her run-ins with our fifth-year prefects, hasn't she?"

"That's- nobody- she's such a horrid-"

"Al docked them for good reason, she had no respect for-"

"I'm not saying I believe you did it," he said over them, his scar-ridden brow creased as if this conversation were causing him physical pain. "This is circumstantial evidence that proves you have some bit of motive, nothing more. If you are responsible for the attacks, then this is me asking you to come forward and take your punishments like Gryffindors - please! If you didn't... now maybe you see how misguided your own conclusions could be. Just a thought."

When they regained the common room, shaken to their core, Albus suddenly became horribly aware of the skeptical looks he and Rose were receiving from Lily and Ryan. It didn't take them long to cross the room and demand to know what they had discussed with the professor.

"None of your beeswax," said Rose immediately. "Might be why he asked you to leave, y'know."

"Come off it, teachers are always asking us to do pointless things," Ryan snapped. "Just a clue, is it-"

"No," said Albus. "We can't, I'm sorry - and don't bother pestering us further, it won't do you any good."

"Fine!" Lily burst out, stomping off and up the stairs to her chambers, muttering under her breath. Ryan shifted uneasily for a second, then made for the portrait hole.

"Not winning any popularity points, there," said Rose, her tone as hollow as Albus felt.

o o o

"Why so glum, there? Runnin' out o' wood lice?"

Albus and Rose started, letting their attentions wander from the bowtruckle they were supposed to be feeding. "Huh?" they said in unison.

"Yeh act like yeh've seen a Grim," Hagrid chuckled, fists on his hips as he surveyed their dreary faces. "Tell yeh wha' - come by me cabin after lessons an' we'll have a cuppa, eh?"

Nodding distractedly, they went back to work, pretending not to feel the lice Malfoy, Malkin and Goyle were flicking at them.

It had been less than a week since Ryan found himself encased in tempered steel and neither of them could think of much else. This was the first of many things they told Hagrid later that afternoon, and Hagrid mostly sat nodding, though now and again he'd offer them rock cakes, which they Transfigured into Eccles when he was busy tending the fire. Rose pulled a face, as one of hers had somehow taken on the unique filling of currants, créme de menthe and salmon.

"Yep, it's got everybody righ' stumped," he sighed, bustling over his supper (it smelled like it had once been alive, but they were both too afraid to ask for further details). "The ghosts have never acted this way - not in all the years I been here, leastways. Can't say as I peg any o' the staff as a suspect, though, they ain't been nothin' but bang up teachers."

"But Peele was talking to Dryden about a chimaera in the pub-"

"Tha' coulda been anythin'," he said, waving the idea aside with an enormous hand as he rejoined them at the table. "Yeh shouldn'a been earwiggin' in the firs' place, but I remember yer parents well enough not ter be surprised. Anyway, nothin' fer it but ter hope they knows what they're doin', eh? Yeh got hardly any proof ter work with, no clues that'll lead yeh ter another clue an' suchforth - don' worry yer heads."

Rose sighed, losing patience with his Hogwarts-approved attitude. "There has to be something we-"

"Not a ruddy thing. Meanwhile... what's this I hears abou' Albus winchin' one o' his feller teammates, eh? Sounds ter me like yeh got enough on yer plate withou' doin' the teachers' jobs fer 'em, too!"

"Yeah, about that," said Rose, perking up as Albus wilted, "what do you think? Should he let Kayla and Tanith down easy, then ask Wendelyne out, or get her sorted first so he has a viable excuse for Kayl-"

"Whoa, hold on, now!" Hagrid guffawed, giving Albus a hearty punch on the shoulder that sent him reeling backward to land on a surprised Tusky. "Where's all this abou' Kayla an' Tanith comin' from?"

By the time Hagrid shooed them out so he could go up and visit his half-brother's cave, the sun was lower in the sky, supper was probably being served in the Great Hall, and Albus wondered if he'd ever be able to face other human beings without expiring.

"Stop acting like a prawn," she chided him. "Maybe Hagrid's no Romeo, but I thought a fresh perspective-"

"You thought wrong, then. That was so weird, talking to Hagrid about girls and- and- _yeeks,_ makes my neck prickle."

"'Yeeks'? Is that even a word?"

Albus did not respond. To be honest, he wouldn't have bothered, even if Jezabel hadn't been making her way across the lawns just ahead of them, her matted waves trailing behind on the waning Winter air.

"Let's see if we can catch up with her," he whispered.

"No thanks; I'm starved, that fishy Eccles was gone ages ago."

"Well, I'm going to talk to her if you won't."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself. You will let me know if you learn anything print-worthy?"

His eye twitched; must she be so difficult? "I might."

And with that, she lengthened her considerably-long strides and passed Jezabel, waving warmly at her as she went. Jezabel smiled briefly before returning to her somber plod, staring at the ground and clutching at her patched, fraying cloak.

"How about some company?" he asked; she leaped nearly ten feet, rounding on him.

"Albus Pot- Pot-"

"Potter," he finished. "Though you don't have to keep saying all of it, y'know; Albus or Al works."

"Sorry, Albus," she breathed, thumb rubbing the crook of her elbow as she steadied her breathing. "I- I was down by the vegetable patches, I- not doing much today, there's no-"

"I'm not accusing you of anything," he said wearily. "You don't have to defend yourself from me. Just wondering how you're keeping."

She seemed to relax, if only the tiniest bit. "All right. No one's attacked me lately, if that's how you mean."

"It wasn't, but... I'm glad."

When they passed through the front doors, she did not turn into the Great Hall for supper, but instead continued up the marble staircase without hesitation.

"Don't you want something to eat?"

"No," she answered, stifling a yawn. "I'm too exhausted to be hungry; I didn't rest well last night because Jocasta O'Quin kept yelping in her sleep. Between the spattergroit and those rashes, something may have traumatised her." Then she turned to face him, talking hurriedly. "Of course, you must be hungry, you should go back down, wouldn't want to be keeping you, it's suppertime and everyone should be there alread-"

"I'm not hungry, either," he assured her, ignoring the angry growl from the pit of his stomach. "Lead on."

Laughing shakily, she lapsed into silence. As they reached the second floor, she said, "It's... good you've found someone."

"What?"

"Wendelyne Moore." Her hands fiddled with the tarnished silver clasps of her cloak. "If it isn't true, I apologise, wouldn't want to slander, but... the rumours are hard to shut out entirely."

"Eh," he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "We went on a date, that's all. I don't think she likes me, or thinks I don't like her, or... whatever. Got me totally baffled, this one does - not even sure I fancy her myself."

"Oh." To his disappointment, there was little to glean from her tone of voice when she uttered this simple response, so he cast around for something to talk about.

"What were you doing down in the vegetables?" He cringed inwardly. "Sorry, that could have used a sprinkle of tact - you don't have to answer that, none of my business."

A quiet snicker; at least she didn't hold it against him. "No, no, it's... nothing, really. Just looking around, stretching my legs. My homework's all finished, I've read through all the books I got for Christmas thrice, and-" But she fell silent, lips pursing nervously.

"And...?"

"Well... I was in my bunk, but it's so new, and... I don't rest well there. I miss the tomb, I haven't been there since..."

A ripple of guilt and nausea ran through his stomach at the mention of his namesake's resting place, but he beat it back. "You could, you know; I haven't had the place renovated and turned into a discotheque."

"A discowhat?"

He sighed, smiling. "Nothing, nothing. Why don't you go there anymore? Rose is the only other person who knows about it, and she wouldn't bother you, I promise."

"It won't be the same." She stopped dead, thin hand at her mouth. "You mustn't feel it's your fault! P-please, if you do, don't, because you were trying to protect the school, it's only natural; I would have done the same. But I... I don't have as easy access anymore now I'm in G-Gryffindor, and that doesn't help much. Yes, all about convenience."

"Mmm." But he found his brow furrowing. "Wait - what? Why would being in Gryffindor stop you going?"

"Oh, well... there's a..." After a brief pause, she motioned for him to follow her behind a tapestry. Utterly vexed, he did so, glancing up and down the corridor first.

"What's up?"

"There's a hidden passageway," she whispered, overgrown fringe obscuring her dark eyes in the even darker niche they were hiding in. "Beyond old Dungeon Eight; you tap a torch bracket on the wall with your wand and the wall vanishes. It takes you out into the Forest. I... I've never told anyone about it, I might have been punished for using it."

"I wouldn't let go of a secret like that, either," he whispered back with a grin. "Sounds like it was useful, to say the least."

She smiled up at him, apparently pleased that he wasn't going to run straight to Mr Urran and tell him to seal it off or give her forty lashes. "Yes, you - it was always there to help me get away from the others when they were in especially nasty moods, or when I wanted some peace. But it's so far away, now, and... there aren't any passageways out there from the tower. I only... I wish there was someplace."

"Jezabel, I'm sorry for messing it all up for you," he said bitterly. "I thought telling the teachers was the right thing, because I wanted the other students to leave off abusing you, but they still pick on you and now you don't even have your sanctuary by the lake. Why didn't I think, or ask?"

"Don't," she whispered imploringly. "A-Albus, you can't think I blame you, not for trying to help! This never- nobody's-"

With no forewarning, large glistening tears began to roll down her cheeks. Instinctively, he stretched out a hand, but she backed into the wall and slid down to the floor, shocked and terrified at what was happening.

"Hey, come on, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know that," she sobbed, arms squeezing her body tightly. "But you- that's not the- you're so kind, and- you shouldn't have to see this."

A mad desire to laugh possessed him, but again, he fought it down. "No, I really shouldn't; you shouldn't have to be sad or upset at all, you ought to be happy here at Hogwarts, oughtn't you? If you can't feel safe here, then where?" His resolve strengthened considerably as he pictured her in the middle of the snowy lawns, stripped of both clothing and dignity. "But they've made you feel as if this gift isn't yours, like you have to earn it or give it back, or something. I don't understand them, why are they such gits?"

Albus's anger abated slightly, and in time to see her glance at the tapestry as if she wanted to escape but was unwilling to try when she was so visibly distraught. He pressed this slight advantage, crouching to put himself back at eye-level. "Jezabel, I... I want you to know I'm here, okay? You're avoiding everybody, and it's not like you've any reason not to, but I..." How to put this? "I'll be around if you need an ear."

Her words were so quiet and grief-racked he only made out something about "trouble you". He reached for her again, and though she recoiled as she had done before, the instant his hand touched her upper arm she became still.

"I am not going to hurt you," he repeated, never more serious about anything in his life. "And I can't even fathom wanting to. I mean it."

"They can't catch me like this," she wailed desperately. "It would only d-draw their fire, they- I shouldn't be crying, don't know why- but I can't stop, why can't I stop?"

"You shouldn't _have_ to stop!"

"Yes, I should, and I do!" Jezabel was as close as she came to being angry now; whether at herself, him, or others, Albus couldn't be sure. "These aren't the manageable tears that leak when they rip my books in half, or stick me to the ceiling, or flush my pet toad out into the lake! That's pain I can- I- they're going to keep coming, I can feel them, why can't they just go away?"

"Maybe they know they have to come out sooner or later," he said shakily as he began to feel extremely out of place, as if he were crashing an important ceremony to which he had not been invited. "Or it's been too long since you've done it properly. Either way, I reckon it's safer to get them all out at once, don't you?"

To his complete astonishment and shock, he found her arms were suddenly squeezing his midsection, face buried in his cloak as she shuddered, moaning in anguish. How long had it been since she truly released like this? His hand came to rest on a bony shoulderblade, unsure of any other recommended act when someone is crying into your lap, and he marvelled at how she could manage to function while so underfed. Empathy flared up in him yet again, and he had a feeling it would continue to do so until something was done to permanently better her situation.

It took him quite a while to decide this was actually happening, and therefore it felt sudden when Jezabel pulled away, making frantic swipes at her doe-eyes. "I- I'm s-sorry about your cloak," she whispered wetly. "You should have it laundered st-straight away."

"Eh...?"

"See you, Albus." He had actually been expecting it this time, yet was powerless to stop her when she leapt up and fled from the tiny alcove, leaving the tapestry to whip back and slap his arm. Only once her footfalls had receded did he notice the damp spot where her eyes had rested.

"Salt water doesn't even stain, does it?" he breathed absentmindedly, tracing a finger along the edge of the spot. "Being silly over nothing."

_END Chapter Twenty-Five_


	26. Three On Five

After a night's debate, Albus decided to tell Rose about what happened behind the tapestry - everything except that Jezabel had wept. He didn't want to leave anything out, but it seemed to him that was Jezabel's private moment, and as such he didn't have the right to blab it all over the castle. Rose was, of course, taken aback by some of the things he'd learned.

"They flushed her toad?" The fresh pear she'd been holding squirted from her hand as she squeezed it in appalled shock; there was a loud "plop!" when it landed in Daphne Lane's Weetabix. "But that's- that's inhumane, it's-"

"It's Slytherin," said Albus dully. "I don't care how often Dad says the Slytherins can be decent folk - none of them have ever turned out well."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," said Rose fairly, tapping her chin with a pear juice-covered finger. "What about old Headmaster Snape? And Jezabel herself, for that matter."

"Hmm, fair points, both." Watching Scorpius Malfoy across the Great Hall, staring up and down his House table like a pallid king on his throne, he said, "But the rest of them... urgh, I wish there was something I could do, something that would really put it to rest."

She snorted. "Yeah. When you work out that miracle, let me know; I'd appreciate a front-row seat."

The following weekend brought yet another trip into Hogsmeade, which Albus was considering skipping entirely in the hopes of avoiding the misfortune that usually seemed to accompany these dates. He voiced this opinion to Rose the day before.

"Oh, for pity's sake! You sound like you've been offered the Defence position!"

"Name once we've gone into Hogsmeade this year that's turned out less than catastrophic!"

"That's beside the point," she pressed on as they added mashed beetle eyes to their cauldrons, glancing over at where Professor Dryden was shouting down Atticus Malkin for using belladonna instead of valerian, his cauldron causing such a painful screeching that between it and Dryden's admonitions they needn't even trouble keeping their voices down. "You can't believe it'll turn out the same, don't be such a superstitious lunkhead!"

"Superstitious, am I? The curse on the Defence position is real, isn't it?"

 _"Was_ real," she corrected him. "Do put things in the correct tense."

"You're right, I'm sorry - Professor Wojcik stayed on for two years, that's _much_ longer than one!"

"But Professor Gwynne had been there before him for seven," she replied swiftly.

He scowled, knowing she had him and loathing it. "Splitting hairs." Her triumphant smile didn't endear her to him any more, either, but an epiphany stopped him from shoving her face-first into her cauldron. "Hey, there's a thought... yeah, why not, what could it hurt?"

"Couldn't hurt much if I don't hear it," she said with a smirk.

"Listen - I know it's kind of random, and last-minute, but... I feel like it's right, like we ought to."

Her silver knife swung dangerously in his direction as she began chopping up hellebore. "Are you ever going to tell me what it is, or just expect me to go along with you when it's already happening?"

"What if we asked Jezabel to tag along? I mean - for real this time, unlike when Scorpius caused the 'Fiasco' last term."

"Ask her to... wait a minute." Her knife hung in midair. "Why are we doing this?"

"We ought to," he reiterated. "She doesn't have a single friend in the whole castle; might be nice if we treated her like one."

"Okay, look." With maddening care, she set her knife aside gently and turned to look at him, hands folded in her lap. "Yes, the wispy little thing is friendless, and yes, it's terrible that they keep picking on her, but... why are we supposed to take her under our wing? If she wanted friends, she might try talking to us once in a while."

"But she's learned not to do that," he whispered, for their teacher had finally ceased the noisy potion with a wave of his wand. "I'll bet she used to try chatting up her Housemates all the time before they told her she was a waste of space."

"And we're suddenly opening a Slytherin Rehabilitation Clinic? Al, she doesn't want us to bother her, why are you forcing the issue?"

"Ahem."

Sensing the word "detention" in their near future, Albus peered up into Dryden's face, bracing for impact.

"What an amusing idea... a 'Slytherin Rehabilitation Clinic', did you call it?" Their hearts sank yet further as he sneered. "I may have to recommend it to the Headmistress. You'll be ironing out the details during your detention a week from tomorrow, I trust?"

Never before had Albus wished his instincts were wrong quite so fervently.

o o o

"You're barking!"

"Get out of it, will you? I'm going."

"No, think about this for a - _AL!"_

Jezabel was more or less shocked when Albus approached her from across the common room, rather a lot of colour in his cheeks - perhaps because she'd thought herself to be mostly hidden by the stack of books in front of her on the table. As he stared down at her, she began to grow steadily pinker in reaction to his pinkness, but as conditions could only deteriorate more rapidly the longer they stared at each other, he hastily cleared his throat.

"Jezabel, I wanted to ask- w-well, that is, I... I was wondering if you'd like to come and hang out with Rose and me in Hogsmeade tomorrow." If he knew without question that he were standing, why did he feel as if he were on bended knee?

"Oh?" She swallowed noisily, trying to put the enormous tome she'd been reading down on the table without paying attention. She missed by a few inches, and it fell to the floor with a loud _THUMP!_   "Oh, I- you're- and we would- what, why?"

"Why?" Just when he needed it, his brain had deserted him. "What d'you... I dunno, for er, ahh... well, because there's nothing else to do, is there? Come on, it'll be fun!" he finished blandly.

He had been hoping she wouldn't glance past him, but she did; following her gaze between his own body and the teetering mountain of homework, he caught Rose giving the both of them a lukewarm smile. When she returned her attentions to Albus, she asked, "Was this... her idea, or yours?"

"Idea? What do you mean? I just thought-"

"Albus," she sighed, now gazing glumly at the floor. "You don't have to. I'm okay, okay?"

"No, that's not- really, I want you to come! Don't you?"

"To be honest... no." Another fleeting look up at him through her ever-present hair. "I believe I've had quite enough of Hogsmeade for this decade."

This had him dumbfounded - perhaps he hadn't envisioned her leaping at the chance, but she seemed to think him outright foolish for asking. "B-but-"

"Thank you, though," she said quietly, bending down to pick up her book. "It... I'm glad you said something, and- but-"

She never bothered to finish her sentence; giving him a brief wave, she drifted away up into the girls' dormitories.

"I _told_ you not to," Rose hissed as she rejoined him.

"Shut up."

"It's obvious to me she's not ready to mingle with the masses, but do you listen? No, of course not, you have to start chucking olive branches at every-"

His throat suddenly decided to increase its volume tenfold. _"FINE!_ You were right, okay? I shouldn't have bothered! The great and powerful Rosie spake, and thus the mortals were wowed by her uncanny perception of Albus's great honking stupidity! I'm sorry I ever thought I could reach out to a fellow Gryffindor! _Happy now?"_

The way she gaped at him, shocked that he'd blown up at her like that, only made him want to do it again. Fuming, he turned on heel and stormed off to his own room, swearing he'd either find some way to convince Jezabel that his intentions were pure or else hit Rose with a well-placed hex in the morning.

o o o

"Al, come on, wait, will you?"

Albus only quickened his pace, flying down the front steps and onto the soaked, chilly lawns. "Wait for who? Her royal Roseness? Sorry, but until you've handed down an official decree-"

"Damn it, will you just let me apologise and stop acting like a prat?"

In Albus's opinion, Rose's idea of an apology did often turn out to be rather absurd, now being no exception. "Excuse me?"

"I... I shouldn't have been giving you so much grief over this, mate," she said miserably. "You are trying too hard, you know, but your reasons are - oh, why in Merlin's name was I trying to stop you being someone's friend? That's a worthy cause if ever there was one, and I've been acting like a baby about the whole thing, and I'm sorry."

"I don't believe it."

She stamped her booted foot. "Al, please - you know I can't stand it when you're cross with m-"

"What? No, I mean - Jezabel."

The tangled mane and secondhand cloak were visible even at their distance. The way Jezabel's head continuously moved from side to side told Albus that she wasn't there by coincidence, and the nearby Mr Urran kept giving her suspicious looks, as if she were planning some great coup that only he could thwart. This began to feel all too familiar to Albus, and he struggled with a nervous lump in his throat - surely she didn't think this to be a date? Impossible, he had said Rose would be there - but then again, maybe she thought they had a chaperon, as in days long past. That was a thought he immediately wished did not exist anymore.

When she noticed, also, Rose's disbelieving comment brought him back to the present. "Blimey, she- she showed."

"Imagine that," said Albus with a nasty glare in his cousin's direction; she sighed wearily.

"I said I was sorry, okay?"

"Yeah, well, we'll see how nice you are to her today."

"How what?" Then her eyes widened, and she took a step back. "Oh, no. No no no, I'm not-"

_"Rose!"_

"I don't get on with her like you do!" she said, eyes moving again to where the newest Gryffindor was waiting for them. "Maybe you're picturing some beautiful day where the three of us tiptoe through tulips or whatever, but... I just don't know how to talk to her, what on earth are we going to talk about?"

"Try and pretend she's another human being; it'll come to you." He opted not to wait for Rose's reply and marched right over to Jezabel without another moment's hesitation; she had spotted them, anyway.

"Um." At least she'd spoken.

"Morning, Jezabel. Fancy seeing you out here!" He wished this hadn't distinctly sounded like he were fishing for answers, but he got them, either way. The girl was shaking from head to toe, clearly at her wit's end and fighting the urge to flee for the relative safety of the castle.

"I... I've changed my mind, Albus, I'd like to- to- unless you've changed yours?"

"Of course not," he laughed. "We'd better get into the queue."

"Rose Weasley-" It became painfully apparent that Jezabel was not remotely as comfortable speaking with Rose; he should have noticed this before, but only when she regarded his cousin as if she were the manifestation of her personal boggart did it sink in. "A-a-and you don't mind?"

His green eyes attempted to bore into her blue ones, but to his relief and satisfaction, it wasn't necessary. When Rose saw how afraid Jezabel was of her at that moment, she melted, smiling widely and saying, "Why should I? You are a fellow Gryffindor, after all."

"Oh, good," she sighed, staring at her feet for a moment as she released all the extra courage she'd mustered to propel them outside. "So, er... the queue, yes."

Much to Albus's annoyance, however, they came to stand directly behind Ryan Macmillan and Puerilis Logan, both of whom talked and acted as if they had Galleons to burn down in the village. They were lucky enough to remain unnoticed for quite some time, but just as they drew close enough to watch the caretaker's quill scratching away at his checklist, Logan happened to turn to look back at the castle and saw them.

"Well, look what the kneazle's coughed up," he said with a smirk. Ryan grinned widely.

"Oh, hello there, Albus! Up and at 'em this morning, is it? Far cry from last Thursday; nearly missed Defence altogether, didn't we?"

Albus returned the smirk with interest. "How perceptive of you, Logan. Do you usually notice things right next to you ten minutes after they've happened?"

"You didn't notice us, either," said Logan, defiant as he was mistaken.

"Yeah, we did," Rose spoke up. "Just didn't think it worth mentioning."

They heard laughing from behind them; all five turned to find Wayne Elphinstone and Traquilius Thomas had both been listening. "Hey, guys," Albus said, trying not to betray how stunned he was at finding out he was clueless as Logan to his surroundings. "When did you get here?"

"A moment ago," said Tranky breezily. "Looks like we're to be the last ones out."

"Not many people going into the village today," Wayne agreed.

"Well, it'll be O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, won't it?" said Ryan confidently, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not that I'm worried, but a lot of the students are probably staying behind to get in a bit more homework and studying. Only a few months left, now."

"Thanks so much for reminding us," came Rose's biting tones. "Like we don't get it from all sides in classes."

"You know I'm right."

She shrugged. "Doesn't make you any more personable. Your turn."

Ryan blinked, whirling to find the students in front of him had disappeared and Mr Urran was tapping his foot. He apologised sheepishly.

"What a maroon," hissed Rose as they dawdled to avoid following Ryan and Logan too closely. "A good kick in the bum might be just the thing... yeah."

"Forget them," Albus sighed. "Maybe he's right, though - should we be inside studying for O.W.L.s? I mean, it sounds like the furthest thing from a good time, but-"

"Nah, don't think we really need to instigate the panic attacks until after Easter."

"Guess you're right; why break our backs this early?" He kicked a rock along the path, and it skipped into a puddle. "Wish I knew what to expect, though; how are the examinations handled? What subjects are they going to cover? Dryden might string me up by my earlobes if I fail his!"

"Well, they'll test you on Strengthening Solutions," said Jezabel thoughtfully. "Likely the Draughts of Peace, Invigoration and-or Befuddlement. The theory will probably be much as you expect, inches of quill-scratching, but for the practical it could be one of any-"

 _"Oh!"_ said Albus suddenly, making her yelp and lapse into silence. "That's right, I'd forgotten - you're a sixth-year, you've already taken O.W.L.s!"

"Er... y-yes. I'm sorry."

Rose had scarcely caught on to his enthusiasm when she halted in the middle of the lane. "Oh, right, it- wait, why are you sorry?"

She stared at her as if unexpectedly asked to milk a giraffe. "Weren't you going to say it's unfair that I must only take normal end-of-term exams this June?"

"No," Albus replied slowly. "I was going to say you'd know what we're up against. I mean, if you're not allowed to talk about it or someth-"

"No, no, don't be silly!" Her relief was so complete she laughed as she spoke, and Albus grinned; it was heartening to see her do that now and again. "Well, let's see - you'll want to bone up on your Wit-Sharpening Potion. Professor Dryden reviewed that with us near the start of Winter term and I hadn't cut my ginger roots fine enough, so he docked Gryffindor ten points and gave me a zero."

Both of their jaws dropped. "He did what?" said Rose incredulously. "But that's mental, such a little thing!"

"You think he overreacted?"

"It'll be because she switched Houses, I bet," said Albus, clenching his fists. "He's trying to sabotage her performance now she's not one of his precious Slytherins!"

The broad topics of how unfairly rigorous O.W.L.s are and their Potions Master's vindictive actions lasted the three of them over an hour as they passed between Honeydukes and Gladrags, eventually ending in Dervish and Banges, where Rose bought herself a few rolls of parchment and Albus examined a large barrel of irregular Gobstones (on sale that week). Throughout their shopping in the village, he became acutely aware that Jezabel didn't seem as interested in buying things as they were, and tended to put things back exactly how and where they'd come from, as if afraid she might break the item and have to pay for it. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Albus had been holding on to a feeble, optimistic notion that Jezabel dressed the way she did as a kind of fashion statement, but there was no longer any denying that she simply had no pocket money.

"Is it difficult, doing it by yourself?" Albus was asking as they set off for the Three Broomsticks. "I've only ever done Side-Along."

"Very," came Jezabel's honest response. "But once you've managed it, the slope is steep; I've Apparated nearly every time since the third or fourth day."

Rose looked as if she was only asking because she couldn't stand not knowing. "Ever get... well, y'know... splinched?"

"Once - left my arm behind. It... er, I won't say it was fun, but once Professor Flitwick fixed it back on-"

"Oh, look sharp, everyone, we're in for a treat! It's Pouter, Measley, _and_ the turncoat herself, all in one spot! Anyone know a good spell to make the earth open up and swallow them whole?"

It appeared the Hogsmeade Curse, the very one Rose had said was of dubious validity, would not be so easily conquered. Timothy Goyle, Genevieve Nott, Atticus Malkin and Chester Pucey all chortled at Scorpius Malfoy's words as if this was their only allotted time to laugh for the entire month, and Genevieve even went so far as to stick her tongue out at them.

Albus felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Facing off against any of the Slytherins would have sent his blood boiling instantly (with less and less provocation every time), but now there was another factor, and he did not want that factor caught in the crossfire of their ongoing insult war. Worse yet, if wands were drawn the battle would be three on five, and he wasn't sure they could survive that. Unfortunately, he saw no ready way to get Jezabel out of there. He longingly wished they were all of age and capable of Apparating as he tried to think of any scathing remark that might catch them off guard.

"Malfoy," Rose was saying as distastefully as she could manage.

"At least you haven't been Confunded," he barked. "Wouldn't be any fun rubbishing you if you couldn't even understand what I'm saying - oh, sorry, you have got old Scurvy-Grass with you."

"What are you on about, Scorpy?" said Albus. "Her marks must be running rings around yours - or aren't you the one with nine Trolls and a Dreadful?"

"Don't," came Jezabel's tiny whisper in his ear. "Please, I- doesn't matter, you needn't-"

"What's she saying, there?" asked Genevieve, arms folded. "Thanking you for making room for her in your, ahh, 'Clinic' when she turned on us like the treacherous wench she is?"

"You mean when she escaped from the mouldy basement to a _real_ House?" said Rose mildly. "Because it seems to me she's not ugly or thick enough for Slytherin."

Though Goyle flexed his fists threateningly and Malkin's hands came out of their pockets, Scorpius merely laughed. "What do you mean, she's not ugly? We're standing right here, and it's not as if that slimy thing is invisible!"

"You are standing right here, aren't you?" snapped Albus, glowering at him as Jezabel seemed to shrink in size. "'Here' happens to be in our way, so get out of it - and get bent, while you're at it."

None of them were laughing anymore. Genevieve Nott looked as if she'd been socked in the stomach. "What gives you the right to talk to us like that?"

Rose grinned darkly. "It's a brand new invention; some call it 'rectitude', but it's more commonly known as 'not being gits'."

And they were armed - everyone but Jezabel, who hung back, biting the tips of her fingers and apparently unsure if this were really happening. Albus found himself wishing she'd lend a hand, as they were about to be hexed in a most thorough manner, but how could she? The pitiable girl had never before thought to fight back when they picked on her, and this sort of situation must seem very familiar after five and a half years. Hoping his actions wouldn't be noticed, he tried to inch in front of her.

"Say that again," said Pucey in a low voice.

"Sure thing," Rose snarled; Albus would have tried to put her off it except he knew by now she was far too angry to be deterred. "Slytherin House and all its inhabitants are nothing but a load of pathetic, short-wanded, greasy, fetid, opportunistic, worthless, gormless, bottom-feeding, knuckle-dragging _GITS!"_

There was no way of knowing how many incantations were spoken, for they were all shouted at once and collided to form such din that individual spells were indistinguishable. Bodies went flying, some wands as well, lights flashed - and in the midst of it all, a sprinkling of muddy water rained down on the lot of them.

Albus straightened at last, a funny feeling in his left leg. Where had everyone gone? Genevieve Nott was lying atop Scorpius, perhaps trying to shield him; Chester Pucey was nowhere to be seen; Atticus Malkin had come to be underneath the considerable mass of Timothy Goyle, and Albus couldn't help but feel sorry for him, there. With all enemies accounted for, that just left his friends.

Rose sat up, eyes crossed. A duck was sitting on her head, pecking at her viciously, and after a moment she reached overhead to bat it away. "Gerroff me, birdbrain!"

"Rose, are you all right?"

"I guess," she gasped, taking his outstretched hand and rising unsteadily, the duck still attacking her ankles. "Feel sort of dazed, but I suppose that'll pass. What about you, what happened?"

"Dunno, but my leg feels weird... where's Jez-"

But as they had done months ago outside the Trophy Room, both cousins spotted her in the same moment; her mess of tangled hair and the heels of her well-worn shoes were the only things visible, as she was lying face-down in a deep, murky puddle. She did not stir.

_END Chapter Twenty-Six_


	27. Exposure

_"JEZABEL!"_

There had never been a time when Albus had felt true fear - not with the gravity he did as he ran to Jezabel's side, as he rolled her out of the water and onto her back, as he slapped her mud-caked face - as he realised she was not breathing. "W-wake up, Jezabel! Come on, wake up!"

"Here-" Rose bent and placed two fingers on the side of her neck. "Merlin, it's faint, but there's a pulse. Hang on, I can- damn, how did it go? Oh, right, then - _Anapneo!"_

Jezabel sat bolt upright, choking and gagging as she clutched at her throat. Then, as suddenly as she'd done so, she lay back down, breathing rhythmically as if she had been asleep all along.

"Might've been a reflex," Rose sighed, sitting back on her haunches and wiping her brow. "That- wow, I- that was close!"

"We have to do something, she's unconscious, Rose!"

"Oh, that's easy enough to fix, but... but maybe we should let her rest a minute, yeah?"

 _"No!"_ he shouted. "We have to get her up, get her away from those, those - rotters! I don't know what they did to her, but I guarantee they're going to get it back a thousandfold!"

"Y-yeah," sputtered Rose, looking at him intently. "We'll see to that straight away. But I guess you're right, let's try and-"

"Hey, what's all this?"

Instantly, both of them were standing on either side of Jezabel, wands drawn. Caspian Lewis backed up, hands and wand raised in surrender.

 _"Oi,_ just asking a simple question! You'd think a person would be grateful for the assistance!"

"Thanks," Albus sighed, lowering his wand. "But we've got this."

An eyebrow hiked into his neatly-combed hair. "Didn't look like it a moment ago; sorry if my Shield Charm did more harm than good, is anyone seriously hurt?"

"Shield Charm? You cast- uh-oh..." Rose's face slackened. "I... I think Jezabel may have been hit by my Stunner. Crap, I'm sorry, I was aiming for Pucey!"

"Yeah, well, my 'Smith Jinx' didn't find Malfoy, either," said Albus glumly, raising the cuff of his trousers to inspect his left leg, which now closely resembled a tree limb. "Hope Madam Pomfrey can put this right, I don't know the counter-jinx..."

Rose's head cocked to one side as she surveyed the scene. "Where _is_ Pucey?"

"Transfigured," said Caspian, bending down to pick up a faded velvet tailcoat. "Not sure why Malfoy was trying to turn any of you into outerwear, though..."

Albus shrugged. "Search me."

"Come to that, what happened here? I saw you were trying to situate yourself between the Slytherins and that Skirrow girl - were they tormenting her again?"

"Again? You mean, you've noticed them doing this sort of thing before?"

His perfectly-proportioned shoulders shrugged. "Not as if I could do anything about it; I didn't get made prefect, you did." The slight edge of bitterness was unmistakable, but he was valiantly striving to keep it from overtaking his words.

"But you could've hexed them!" Rose said angrily. "Or- or told a prefect. Okay, maybe none of those would've made much difference."

"No, you're right; I should have tried to stop it regardless. Sorry."

"Let's just worry about getting Jezabel up to the hospital wing," Albus grunted as he pulled her arm around his shoulders.

"We probably should try and wake her, now," Rose said. "There's a spell, but I never practised it - only came across it once..."

Caspian nodded. "Right, that - _Rennervate!"_

Large, dark doe-eyes fluttered open, staring blankly around through her oily strands at the three faces turned down toward hers. Then, with a start, she sat up, scooting away and making small squeaks.

"Jezabel, wait, it's okay!" Albus slowly walked toward her. "The fight's over, we-"

"Wh-what are- what happened? Did you- Scorpius, Genevieve, what did they-"

"Nothing happened; Lewis here broke it all up. Well, my leg's made of wood, but that's probably not permanent, so we should get going to-"

"This was all m-my fault!" she wailed. "They were only after me, if I hadn't been here-"

"None of that," he said firmly. "They're all idiots, they would curse a thimble if they thought it were looking at them wrongly. Anyway... can you stand?"

"Y- y- I'm not sure, let me- oop!"

She stumbled forward into Albus's expectant arms; if he'd been bowled over by an errant Stunner, he might have trouble standing, as well. He pulled her up to her feet, her muck-caked face inches from his as he said, "No more Hogsmeade for us, eh?"

When she only stared open-mouthed at him, perhaps dazed that he wasn't more visibly shaken than he was, he motioned for Rose to help him. Nodding resignedly, his cousin took their Housemate's other arm and together they climbed back up the path to the school, Caspian acting as a rear guard until they reached the safety of the hospital wing, where he bade them luck.

Madam Pomfrey was furious with all three of them, though hardly surprised; she'd treated so many maladies of varying horror that little surprised her these days. Jezabel was pronounced fit as a fiddle, and a few charms restored Albus's leg to flesh-and-bone, so the three of them left her to sort out the moth-eaten tailcoat and headed off toward the baths to clean the mud off themselves - something Jezabel needed worst of all.

"B-but I don't want to," she whispered. "I- I can't, there's-"

"It's just a bath," Rose laughed. "You have had one before, haven't you?"

"You don't understand, I'm- I'm-" When she noticed they were both watching her expectantly, she frowned at the floor as they walked.

"Come on, out with it," said Albus. "You can trust us." Jezabel regarded him for a moment before drawing a deep breath.

_"I've been afraid of water since I was eight and Adora held me under at the public pool for nearly forty seconds and I thought I was going to die and I know it's rather disgusting but I haven't bathed since only washed up in the basin so if it's all right with you I'll skip the-"_

"Whoa, slow down, there!" Rose was aghast; she shot Albus a look, but he didn't know what to say, either, so she continued. "D'you mean to tell us you... you actually haven't taken a proper bath in _EIGHT YEARS?"_

"I... I can't, I'm sorry!" she wailed, vibrating again. "I'm so afraid, the water, there's so much, anything could hap-"

"Oh, for Peverell's sake!" Gritting her teeth, Rose grabbed her arm and said, "It's straight off to the prefect's bath right now for you, and I don't want to hear another word about it!"

 _"NO!"_ she screamed, more terrified than Albus could remember seeing her. "I- there's no- I'll _die!_ I'll drown, I know it, I've already nearly drowned once today and I'd prefer not to push my-!"

"Then I'll bathe with you," Rose insisted. "You need a lifeguard? I was top of the class in Pollywogs, so I reckon I can rescue you from the bathtub!" Her ears took on a dim glow at the mention of her swimming lessons.

"A-Albus, help me, please!"

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to tell Rose to cut it out, but neither of those seemed wise. Instead, he patted Jezabel's shoulder and whispered, so quiet that only she could hear, "Rose saved me from drowning in a river once; if anybody can keep you alive, it's her, trust me. You may get sick or something if you leave that mud on, so... try it, maybe?"

She continued to grow increasingly dismayed as Rose dragged her along the corridor, whimpering slightly and gaping at him as if he'd run her through with a bayonet. Albus watched after them for a long moment before his thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"What's their problem?"

He spun to find himself nose-to-nose with Wendelyne Moore, whose expression told that she thought this all a relatively mundane happening at Hogwarts. "Oh, er- hi- that is- they're off to clean up."

"Ah, I see." She looked him up and down; suddenly he remembered that he was covered in mud splatters, and wished he'd followed the others on their way to the baths. "You lot have fun down in Hogsmeade, then?"

"Er, not so much - Slytherins, you know."

"Oh? Get into a row?"

"Bit of one; old Pucey got Transfigured into a manky tailcoat."

"What, really?" But she'd let slip how interested she truly was in what he'd been up to, and she hastily recomposed her features into a look of detached curiosity. "I mean, er, hmm, that's interesting."

"Yyyeah," he said slowly. "Look, I-" He hadn't really known what he would say next, and mentally kicked his stupid mouth for galloping ahead of him, but then the right words came to him, and he said them before he had opportunity to talk himself out of it. "Walk me back to the common room?"

Wendelyne literally staggered back. "C-come again?"

"Bugger, don't put me through it again, it's a sticky enough question the first run."

A reluctant snort. "Fair enough."

They'd reached the fifth floor before either of them could work up the courage to speak; how did you move along from the Shack and the kiss on the pitch? Where does one go from there? Finally, Wendelyne made the first attempt.

"How are things working out?"

"Things? What things?"

"You and Jezabel," she said quietly, staring at the flagstones beneath their feet as they trudged slowly toward their supposed destination. "I- well, it's been ages since we really talked, so I was wonderi-"

"Me and- and Jezabel? No, wait, you can't be-" And he couldn't help but chuckle. "But that's not how it is at all!"

"Don't sugar-coat it for me," she sighed. "It was one kiss, it's not like we ever really... er..."

"I swear, we're only pals, Wendelyne!" He was beginning to feel desperate; 'People can't have a break-up conversation if they never really went out, can they?' he thought. "I mean, perhaps I was a little over-zealous sticking up for her, but if you'd heard some of the stories-"

"Dammit, Albus, that's not the point!" He stepped back as she stopped not far from the Fat Lady and swung around to shout at him. "You didn't care about me at all, did you? You thought maybe a bit of fun down in the village, a butterbeer and a snog or two, but have I even crossed your mind once since our last Quidditch game?"

"Of course! You don't know how hard it is to think of a non-ridiculous way of talking to you, especially with Rose sticking her nose in, always making mad suggestions involving chocolates or-"

She was blinking, eyebrows knitted as her stony countenance began to soften. "Y-you were trying to-"

 _"What_ on earth is going _on_ out here?"

Out of the entire student body, there was a fairly short list of people Albus would have done almost anything to prevent them walking in on this particular discourse, and near the top was Aqua Rankin. An eye began twitching as he turned and asked, "Why, are we bothering you?"

"Not really," she asked keenly. "Only, well, you're starting to rival the noise levels in here, which is saying something."

It was at that moment Albus and Wendelyne both caught faint shoutings coming from behind her. Glancing at each other, they both ran forward and followed Aqua inside, catching the first snippets of a heated argument.

"Miss Vane, please, keep your hands to yourself or I shall have to alert Professor Longbottom! Honestly, this is such a display of dreadful-"

"We've got a right to know, don't we? She's always lurking around, it's dead creepy, and nobody's bothered to tell us why-"

"That is beside the point! Harassment of this sort is not permitted, and you'd do well to-"

Their voices blended together as they vied for control of the situation, and Albus sensed rather than knew what was going on. Drawing his wand, he took the last few steps into the common room proper fast as his legs could carry him.

There stood Brunhilda Vane, hands on hips and expression livid, shouting up at the considerably-taller Barty, who was obviously aghast at being forced to argue his point. Fuse already lit, Albus waited to see what this was about, and was shortly satisfied.

 _"Ten points from Gryffindor!"_ Barty shouted. "And if you don't watch your tone in the future, you may find yourself with detentions, young lady!"

"Don't call me 'young lady' like I'm so much younger than you! And you can dock points from your own House all you want, because I'm not about to back off this issue until I receive some answers! The students have a right to know how she did it, don't they?"

Some of the gathered crowd nodded fervently, while others had frowned and squirmed when she gave Barty permission to lose them yet more points. Albus, however, had listened long enough.

"Not learned from our past mistakes, have we?"

"You!" she gasped, eyes bulging as she took in his appearance. "I'll bet you had something to do with this, didn't you? You got her moved into our House, you, you- miscreant sympathiser!"

"Ooh, fancy words for a snotty, unbalanced-"

"Stop!" Barty shouted. "That's enough to be getting on with for one evening, I should think! Now, let's all remain calm and discuss this like-"

"He got that filthy, dodgy thing in here, I just know he did! What if they're the ones setting the ghosts on the students, eh? Will you be proud to have them here then?"

Everyone turned to look at Albus in stunned silence, eyes narrowing and hands moving to mouths. How could they believe these rantings? Couldn't they see the girl was mad? Luckily for him, they had very little time to invest in the subject, as a few seconds later footsteps were sounding on the stairs.

"This is all I could find," said Belinda Toussant in her squeaky voice, her arms full of assorted items. "I- are you sure we should be- that is, it seems a bit Machiavellian to go through her things when Jezabel's not even here to defend-"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brunhilda glance sideways at him for the briefest moment as Belinda dumped her armload on a nearby table; she hadn't expected him to be there to witness her underhanded tactics. He smiled a sinister smile at her, and she gulped.

"Come on, then." This came out in a deadly whisper he was not used to hearing come from his own throat. "Let's see what wondrous treasures you've unearthed, eh? Oh my, look, here's a Dark artifact if ever there were one - Chocolate Frog cards! Merlin, how ever could we have been blind to such an evil in our midst?"

"That's- she's- that's not all there is, she could still have-"

"And here we have Grimm's Faerie Tales - that hag! Can't believe she's been sneaking this into our school right under our noses!"

"What about this, eh?" she rasped, picking up a rather large bottle of yellow liquid. "Murtlap Essence? What's she been doing to need to have this so readily on hand?"

"Being picked on by horrid fourth-years comes to mind." Though he said this in an offhand manner, his words rang true; that probably was the reason behind her owning that bottle, and his stomach went a little colder as he tried not to think about it.

"Her O.W.L. results - all O's, with an E in Potions!" she continued, thrusting a sheet of parchment into his face. "Did she worm her way out of Slytherin because she got a poor grade in her Head of House's own class, is that her motivation to undermine the Sorting process?"

"For your information," he began heatedly, wanting with all his being to shove his wand somewhere she would find rude, "the Sorting Hat _did_ put her here, so what d'you have to say to _that?"_

For the second time since he'd entered the common room, not a breath was to be heard, not a shoe shuffled the rug. With an inward cringe and the knowledge that he would only regret it more with the passing minutes, it became clear that he had just blown wide open one of the two biggest mysteries of the school year, and that within hours the entire school would know how it had happened and who had done it. Perhaps he could take Jezabel's modest Chocolate Frog card collection and build himself a private dormitory with them...

"Um, er... what's... what does this mean?"

All eyes turned to Martin Finnigan, who was holding up several sheafs of parchment, apparently quite disturbed at their contents. Not waiting for anyone else to react first, he raised his wand and whispered, _"Accio Parchment!",_ and the entire stack zoomed from Martin's hands to his own. His eyes moved quickly down the first sheet, and the next sheet, and the next, but he soon realised this to be tedious and pointless because they all contained a single sentence, written in small, cramped handwriting over and over.

"'Permission is not mine until I have received it'," he breathed, unaware he was reading aloud.

"There's hundreds more up there," said Belinda quietly, "but... well, they all say the same thing, so I figured there was no point bringing the rest."

Albus had thought it to be a diary, or perhaps secret etchings or poems or something, but this was almost worse than any of that, even though he didn't know what it meant, either. He didn't have to be a psychoanalyst to see this cast a very bad light on Jezabel, one that coloured her as a complete lunatic.

"Well, she certainly didn't get permission from us to invade our lives," Brunhilda said nastily. "Why couldn't she stay where she belongs instead of stirring the cauldron the wrong w-"

_"MICHINA PENNAE!"_

His willpower had been gradually sapped by this entire confrontation, and when he found he'd reached his breaking point, a curse his mother had once used on his father because he nearly wrecked his old motorbike when James had been with him floated to the surface of his memories. Enormous pale flapping things burst from Brunhilda's nostrils and began pelting her about the face.

 _"AAGH!_ No, call them off, what are they, get 'em off me!"

"Apologise for what you said about Jezabel!"

"Belinda, Wendelyne, help me, you- stop him, he's siding with the enemy!"

Another chill ran down his spine; after their ill-fated date in Hogsmeade, he'd disregarded the fact that Wendelyne and Brunhilda were friends, and yet again had forgotten she was there. Watching his flaxen-haired teammate carefully, he waited as she stared between the two of them, a depressed and weary semblance about her.

"Oh, grow up, Brunhilda."

But she did not stick around to aid either of them further, ascending the staircase to her chambers and slamming the door. He was still staring after her when he heard another voice shout, _"AL!"_

The room as a whole turned to the portrait hole where Rose was entering, jaw nearly on the floor at the sight of him hexing Brunhilda; he lowered his wand, and the flying things dissipated into the ether, leaving his target swatting at thin air comically.

"Oh, h-hi, Rose," he mumbled, feeling a fool for attacking without thinking again.

"Hi, I suppose." As he more carefully took in his cousin's freshly-cleaned face, her eyes seemed bloodshot, and the skin around them rather pale. "What's going on in here?"

"Nothing," both he and Brunhilda said at once, which caused them to glare at each other.

"Scandalous flouting of the prefect system, that's what!" blustered Barty, rediscovering his voice at last. "Such a violent discussion, and a serious intrusion into Miss Skirrow's personal belongings! Atop that, neither your cousin nor Miss Vane have yielded to- to- bless my soul."

A thin, trembling figure had emerged from behind Rose at the mention of her name, but it was hard to believe she belonged to it. That thick flowing mane was nearly a foot shorter, and appeared soft and floaty without the years of weight and grime. Though Albus didn't think her face to be drastically different than before, it occurred to him that this was the longest and most complete look he'd had of it - and that everyone else in the room had likely not seen more than her nose and hair before this moment. Then he noticed the two baby-blue barrettes at either temple, holding her usual camouflage out of her fetching, dark eyes, which may or may not have been given a touch of eyeshadow. Her thin lips were also glossier than usual, which was harder to notice at first because she was biting the lower one.

"Jezabel," he breathed, lost for words. Why did these differences feel so... familiar?

"What's wrong with you nutters?" demanded Rose; her tone quavered a bit, as if this were somehow a hard thing to say. She stole a glance back at Jezabel before glowering around at the crowd. "Honestly, you'd think nobody'd ever seen a brunette witch before!"

An immediate prickling of shame ran through him when he saw Jezabel's eyes had locked onto the sheets of parchment in his other hand. Swallowing hard, he held them out to her.

"J-just trying to get you your stuff back," he said, bending the truth slightly. Now he wasn't in the moment, it seemed that in the process of trying to defend her honour he'd actually exposed more of her private life than might have been done if he'd kept his wand stowed and his mouth shut.

It was more than he could bear. Albus found himself desperately hoping she would start shouting, demanding that they explain themselves and stop going through her things. Of course, he knew this would not be her reaction, but it would be less painful to watch than the thick, glistening tears that welled at the corners of her eyes, the way her trembling only became more pronounced. Then, as if ordered by an unheard command, she walked forward and took the parchment, gathered up everything else from the table, and made her way silently up the stairs after Wendelyne. Not once had she met his eyes.

_END Chapter Twenty-Seven_


	28. Concealment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AO3 Note: Always liked how the chapters "Exposure" and "Concealment" occur back-to-back... and that the chapter titles are applicable. And don't worry, you're halfway through it, now!]

As Albus had predicted, by Monday morning the tantalising news that Jezabel Skirrow had been re-Sorted had leaked out everywhere like water from a rat's favourite hosepipe. Fact-checking at the hands of some fastidious Ravenclaws brought to light that there had only been one other re-Sorting in the history of Hogwarts, and it had been hundreds of years ago; a Hufflepuff began behaving so mischievously that the Hat was called in to move him into Slytherin. This quelled most students' fears as to her using unknown manipulation tactics on the staff.

Though he wasn't sure why they should care so much, her makeover at the hands of his dear cousin seemed to be equally gossip-worthy. The girl who had been nothing more than a cloak of hair with a nose in the middle had been unmasked, and all the students who had shot her accusatory stares for nearly three months were now more curious than outraged, and the whispers blew around the school in gusts and eddies. As to whether or not they thought these changes an improvement or not, Albus didn't know, but it wasn't for lack of input.

"You've spoken with her before, Albie," said Lily a few days later as he passed by her hushed conversation with Tanith Moon, Kayla Sylvanus and (to his chagrin) Wendelyne Moore out on the grounds. "Do you think she's prettier, or is her face yet more ghastly now we can see all of it?"

"Excuse me?" he fired up at once.

Sensing a potential situation, Wendelyne moved to head her off with a whisper. "Er, perhaps this isn't the wisest-"

"I heard all these sixth-year Ravenclaw boys talking about what a marked change it is," Kayla put in mordaciously, "and how 'deep' her eyes are, whatever that rubbish means."

"You don't like your eyes 'deep', then?" he snapped. "Perhaps 'breathtaking' is more your bag, eh?"

A vindictive pleasure purred within him as he watched the surface around her upturned nose grow so deeply crimson she might have been mistaken for a prize-winning tomato; in fact, Tanith began to take on a greenish tinge, also. Lily, however, was blissfully unaware of her best friends' plight, and pressed on; he very much wished she wouldn't, as he'd prefer not to discuss such matters with his own sister. "Al, don't be cross, it's only... we'd like a man's perspective from our own House, you know?"

"That so? All right. In my opinion, Jezabel never looked ghastly, and is the same person she was before, so why don't you all find something to talk about that doesn't make you come off like an old ladies' quilting circle?"

He ignored several exasperated shouts as he stomped down to Hagrid's.

Unwelcome though it might be, he'd fully expected Jezabel to cut herself off from him - after all, their Saturday had been a horrendous chain of events, from dueling in Hogsmeade, to forcing her to take a bath against her wishes, and strewing her dirty laundry all over the common room for a grand finale. He made one weak attempt to wave at her in the hallway the first time he saw her after he'd returned her things, and following this utter failure he gave it up; she needed time and space before he ventured an apology.

Rose, however, was also pretending he was part of the scenery, and this left him flabbergasted. Was she really so appalled that she wasn't even going to call him out on his actions, or give him a chance to explain? He briefly entertained the notion that maybe she and Jezabel were talking about him behind his back, but he never saw them together. Come to that, he never saw Rose with anybody at all.

The week wore on, and between homework and Quidditch practises (which were increasingly uncomfortable when a Chaser and the Keeper are both avoiding you at all costs), Albus slowly began to get used to being entirely friendless in the school that now felt like a dingy old abomination hewn from stone. On the upswing, the classes in which his grades had been slipping were a bit easier once he began spending most of his free time studying alone in the library, and Olivia Wood commented that he was flying better than ever due to logging a ridiculous amount of hours drifting aimlessly over the grounds. These positive aspects did little to counterbalance the cloud of depression that hovered around his head constantly.

When at last Saturday was upon them, Albus and Rose bumped into each other on the way out of the portrait hole; it was really only wide enough for one.

"Would you-"

"I was here-"

Then they stopped and stared at each other, both at a loss (especially Albus, who had no idea why he was receiving the cold shoulder of late). Hoping to curry even a speck of favour, he bowed back and allowed her through ahead of him. Nodding stiffly, she bolted through without a backward glance.

"Cripes, what in-?"

But he didn't finish his thought, instead stomping out after her. He'd scarcely rounded the corner when she walked straight into him, her nose stabbing into his eye.

 _"Ow!"_ he cried, backing up and clutching at the throbbing orb. "What's- why did you- eh?"

"Merlin, Al, I- why didn't you watch out?"

 _"Me_ watch out? How was I supposed to know you were going to-"

"Wait, wait," she sighed, rubbing her tender button nose. "I didn't come back to jump down your throat, I... to apologise for... y'know."

"No, I don't!" He was trying to master his anger, but the pain caused this to be a tall order. "I- you- all I want is an explanation! What did I do to cheese you off? Must have been a new level of awful for you to-"

"Nothing!" she gasped, evidently surprised. "No, it's not your fault at all - I'm so sorry, I haven't been meaning to shut you out! Oh, why do these things keep happening to me?"

"To _you?"_

"Okay, look," she whispered, starting off toward the nearest staircase as she talked, "we don't really have time to get into it at the moment, but I swear, I- I- I can talk about it now, I have to... _we_ have to. Just... can you wait?"

"No."

"Albus!"

"Oh, fine," he grunted. "But I don't like it."

"Like we're going to enjoy _this._ By what means shall our knuckles be bleeding this evening?"

Albus exhaled powerfully, trying his best to release all Rose-related frustrations in this manner. "Scrubbing something disgusting... or trying not to get trampled by something. There's always an undefined 'something' you'd rather stayed that way, isn't there?"

When they reached the entrance to the dungeons, they were greeted by a familiar face, though it was distinctly out of place in that location. Albus blinked rapidly to be sure before speaking to her.

"Hey, Dorika. Er, what's going on?"

"Detention with Dryden," the Hufflepuff replied, frowning deeply. "You?"

"The same."

"What are you in for?"

"Talking during class," said Rose. "You?"

"Calling Timothy Goyle a nasty name for putting snails down the back of my robes - and of course, Mr Urran didn't see him playing his trick on _me,_ so he got off scot-free."

Albus's eyebrow went up. Dorika Dunsmore, swearing? "What'd you call him?"

"Er... I'd rather not repeat it; might earn me another detention."

A collective sigh issued from the lungs of all three beleaguered souls, and they hesitated only the briefest of moments to swallow their pride before setting off down the dank, torch-lit hallways toward the Potions Master's office and uncertain doom. They had scarcely covered half the distance when Rose stopped short.

"Hang on - oh no!"

"What?" Albus whispered.

"I left my dragon-hide gloves up in my dormitory!"

"What? You dunce, we've got to be in there in about three minutes or we'll be late, and I don't think he'd find it fashionable!"

"You could Summon them from here," Dorika suggested. "Head a bit further back to pull off a stronger Charm, maybe?"

"Right... yeah, I can do that." Her mouth slipped into a lopsided grimace as she said, "But you two go on in - wouldn't want all of us to be tardy if this takes too long."

Albus shifted guiltily. "You sure?"

"Very. Go on, then."

He and Dorika shrugged, and the two of them left their red-haired comrade to Summon the gloves they may well be needing for their detentions, continuing along the corridor. Just as he began pushing open the door to Professor Dryden's office, however, Albus heard a thunderous soliloquy from inside.

"-bunch of short-sighted gargoyles! Blocked at every turn, a lifetime of work and research for _nothing!_ Why can't they comprehend, when are they going to realise? Ignorant, boorish _ninnies!"_

His Hufflepuff co-eavesdropper raised her eyebrows at him, but Albus held a finger to his lips. Professor Dryden was in a towering rage, and this was far too good to give up by announcing their presence too soon, tardiness be damned.

"After so much time, I finally did it, didn't I? Did what no one else had managed! But have I been given any recognition? Of course not! Oh yes, Austerus Dryden, the renowned Potioneer, great with a cauldron, blah blah blah, but what does all that matter when you've discovered the power of control over the uncontrollable?"

Dorika gasped, and Albus instantly knew her reaction would not have gone unnoticed. When the professor fell silent, his stomach slipped a notch, and it fell straight through onto the floor a moment later when the door burst open to reveal their Potions Master standing across the room, wand raised.

"So," he said in a low, murderous voice. "Two of Hogwarts' brightest stars have decided they need to be kept abreast of everything going on within its walls, have they? That's quite a task you've set yourselves, you know. Perhaps it would help if you were to take a few remedial courses, to ensure you can recognise the happenings around you, yes? Tell me - do you know what the insides of a mutated chameleon look like, Ms Dunsmore?"

Her mouth worked for a minute before she could manage even the barest squeak. "I- I- I-"

"That area of knowledge stagnated in your mind, has it? How about a fresh reminder?"

Even though he witnessed what happened next, even though he was standing transfixed in the very same room with them, Albus was positive he could not be watching the jar on the wall behind Dryden exploding, nor see its contents zooming straight toward the golden-haired third-year. It occurred to him to act just a moment too late, and his hands were barely raised toward her when the grotesque, dripping guts splattered across her face.

_"EEK!"_

"Has that been helpful?" Dryden spat, his crooked nose yet further twisted by fury.

As Dorika continued to scream, stumbling around and trying to rid herself of the entrails, Albus stepped forward and yelled, "You can't do this, you haven't the right!"

"Haven't I? You come to my office, listening at the door like a couple of-"

"But we're here to serve _your_ detentions!" he said hotly. "We _had_ to come in!"

"That's not- but you were- that... oh." His anger finally began to abate. "And... but you were listening, were you not?"

"We were, sir." He tried not to sound overly defiant, praying they might be out of the woods. "We thought about barging in, but you were in a... well, a frenzy, and I reckoned it wiser to wait it out."

The piercing stare was back, and drilling straight through into Albus's mind. "Did you hear... everything?"

"Er... well, I dunno, we heard some stuff, but I don't really know wh-"

"Ahh." Dryden's temper was being replaced by anxiety at a disquieting rate. "Yes, well... well, let's call it a night, then."

"What?"

"Your detentions today were to, ah, promise not to repeat anything you heard in the past five minutes. Being that I trust you to keep this promise, we shall consider your detentions served. You may go now."

He couldn't believe his ears - avoiding licking the stains off rusty cauldrons just by overhearing their teacher muttering to himself? It was like being given the keys to Honeydukes. "And... and Rose?"

"Yes, fine, tell her she's been let off, as well. But remember, you mustn't repeat what you heard to anyone - _anyone!_ Understand?"

"Er, yes sir, of course!"

"Good lad." He now flashed Albus what might have been a fatherly smile on a less-imposing person - or one who didn't look as if they were about to pack their things and flee that very night. "You are in possession of a sharp mind, aren't you? Now, off you go, I, er... I have matters to attend."

Once Albus had managed to clear off Dorika's face and drag her out into the hall, they caught up with Rose at the bottom of the staircase, who was trotting down to them with a put-upon expression. "Ruddy things wouldn't come to me! Guess my reluctance to get on with my detentions showed through my spellwork." Then she stopped short. "Wait a second - what are you two doing back so soon?"

Despite their promise to the professor, Albus found no way of explaining why they were being excused from detentions for the first time in memory without relaying Dryden's insanity to Rose. Dorika was just welling up with tears from reliving the chameleon spleen getting lodged up her nose when Rose gasped in shock.

"But that's- he's a teacher, he's not allowed to do things like that to us! I mean, you and I, we're almost of age, but... but Dorika's only thirteen, yeah? That's child abuse, that is!"

"Actually, I'm f-fourteen, now," she whimpered, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "My birthday was two weeks ago."

"Beside the point! What the bloody hell's wrong with this school? Everything's so bass-ackwards, I- I can't believe- what are we supposed to do, just sit around and take it?"

"What did he mean?"

Both cousins turned to Dorika Dunsmore and waited for her to elaborate. She squirmed uneasily, as if she'd rather put the night behind her.

"P-Professor Dryden, when he was talking about getting recognition... for what?"

"Sounds like he was on about that bloody Wolfsbane Potion again," said Rose impatiently. "So what?"

"No, I... he was talking about the ghosts, wasn't he?"

Albus's mind raced back through their encounter in his office and it all fit into place. "'Control over the uncontrollable'... Blimey, she's right!"

"What do you mean?" asked Rose.

"Think about it - nobody's ever been able to control ghosts, have they? I mean, exorcise them, sure, but that'll get rid of them permanently, that's not really control at all! Maybe Dryden's found some way to force them to do his bidding!"

"I don't know," said Rose skeptically. "That is... why? What would it possibly gain him?"

"We've been over this," he snapped. "Cover-ups, distractions, 'recognition', whatever it is - he and this stupid chimaera aren't satisfied with-"

"Chimaera?" Dorika squeaked. "B-but-"

"What are we supposed to _do,_ though?" Rose demanded. "We've tried talking to the teachers, we've tried investigating on our own, and nothing makes a bit of difference - besides, it's been ages since we've had an incident, all the leads have gone dead! Even if he was talking about it, what good does it do us to know?"

He'd been ready for this part. "It might warn us that he's about to attack again. Acted like he wasn't pleased with his progress so far, didn't he, Dorika?"

She blinked, clearly not expecting to be asked for her opinion. "Huh? Oh, well I-"

"Exactly," he blazed ahead. "So maybe he's planning something huge next - something they can't ignore, whoever 'they' are. Shouldn't we at least report this to Longbottom, or maybe even Headmisstr-"

"But we can't!" Dorika breathed. "We're not supposed to tell anybody - we probably weren't even supposed to tell Rose! If... if he really can control spirits, mightn't he have ways of knowing if we've let slip our secret?"

The three of them fell silent, staring down at the floor. She had a point, and a scary one, at that. What could they possibly do if he were spying on them? Albus felt his skin crawling as he imagined beady eyes in every corner, waiting for them to slip up, craving an opportunity to devour them whole.

"I... I'd better get back to my common room," Dorika mumbled as she took off, not waiting for them to respond. It was just as well; they were still too deep in thought to manage anything more than a vague nod.

"We shouldn't have done that."

"Eh?"

"Albus," Rose breathed, turning wide, fearful eyes toward him, "what if you were right? What if it's really Dorika? We spent the past fifteen minutes babbling about our theories, and now she knows we're trying to figure out who the perpetrator is, and she'll come after us next!"

"What? Oh, please, it has to be Dryden now - after all that he said?"

"All it proves is that he's keen on hiding something, which is pretty shoddy as far as evidence goes."

"But-"

"Drop it, will you? This isn't getting us anywhere, and if Dorika's right we're being listened to right now, so... I don't see any reason to discuss it further."

"Fine, then." He steeled himself for a fight. "Then why don't you tell me why you've been a right little prat lately?"

This didn't send her into a tirade the way he'd been expecting; on the contrary, she seemed to deflate upon his mention of her recent snubbing. Her face contorted as she slumped away up the stairs, picking up the gloves she'd dropped along the way and stuffing them into her pocket.

"Hey - Rose, wait up, don't be like-"

"Do we have to do this right now?"

"Do what? I don't even know what-"

"Sca-" Breath caught in her throat at the end of that single word, and by the halflight coming through the window he beheld the first gleam of new tears. "I- we can't... Albus, you don't want to hear this, I don't want to know about it, and we're in the middle of the first fl-"

"Tell me! I'm not going to let you off until you tell me!"

He stood watching her back for a while, waiting for her to make up her mind. Then, with an almost careless wand movement, she opened a nearby door and chivvied him inside, closing it behind them. It was pitch black inside, having no windows, and when she lit her wandtip it cast an eerie shadow into every sorrow-line in her face, around the shining tracks on her cheeks. It sent a wave of mingled dread and déjà vu through him he could not shake.

" _SCARS,_ Albus. Dozens - hundreds - all over. Everywhere you looked, years old, fresh as weeks ago, they... it's like I couldn't breathe, I'm not sure how I stopped myself blubbering all over the place."

Albus allowed her a moment before he spoke up; he was already certain she had been right about him being better off living in ignorance. "Er... what in the-"

 _"Jezabel,_ you stupid git!" she half-shouted, half-sobbed. "Who do you _think_ I'm talking about? Cor blimey, there are days I think you were raised by trolls for the barrelfuls of context you grasp!"

"Jez- Jezabel has-"

"Scars," she reiterated, no longer shouting, at least. "Has to get a new one every other week by the looks of it. Horrible's not a good enough- it's, it's... depraved. The blighters in this castle are depraved, and ought to be cursed into oblivion, every last one."

"Wait, so... you're saying Jezabel's covered in scars? But I- I haven't seen any, where are-"

"You wouldn't have," she said darkly.

"Oh. Ohhh... but wait, why haven't I seen them before? We saw her in her knickers!"

His cousin tutted. "In case you've forgotten, we were a bit distracted that afternoon. There's also the fact that she was turning blue."

"But you had a longer look when you were cleaning her up," he gusted as he began to understand. His stomach was twisting itself into knots. "Are there really so many?"

"How can you think I'm being stupid? Not about a thing like- it feels wrong to put it like this, sounds awful, but... looking at her made me want to kill myself, just to keep from feeling _that_ sorry for anybody, much less somebody who deserves every last iota of sympathy she can get! And... and I have something to say to you."

This change of direction startled him. He felt more than heard her shoe scuffing at the floor. "You have?"

"Yeah. Albus, I am so very, truly sorry I ever doubted your intentions with Jezabel. She's only- and you wanted to make her... God, that poor, miserable little _creep!"_

This might have been an insulting thing to say, but somehow Albus couldn't fault her as her freckled face came to be buried in his shoulder. Why did it seem like everybody kept crying on him lately?

_END Chapter Twenty-Eight_


	29. Inadvertent Heroism

The month of April opened on Hogwarts by way of constant, torrential rains, soaking everything through and sending a penetrating breeze through its windows and battlements. Many of the upper classmen had taken to carrying jars of bluebell flames around with them to keep from freezing to death, and the younger students could be heard begging them for the incantation at every spare moment. Their elders just laughed.

"Gits," Martin Finnigan spat at Aiden McLaggen's back as he strolled away. "Won't tell us just cos we haven't got our precious O.W.L.s back yet!"

Rose smirked at him. "Actually, mightn't it be that you made the entire House team sound like a load of duffers in your last stint as commentator?"

"Never gonna let that go, are we?" he gusted.

In light of their recent reconciliation, Rose had been abnormally helpful with Albus's homework, even going so far as to do his Astronomy essay for him one evening. He'd since inferred that it was what she'd seen in the prefect's bath that had caused her to completely forget Albus couldn't automatically understand, and told her over and over that it wasn't necessary to make it up to him, but she insisted.

"Why shouldn't I? A cousin of mine once went so far as to give me an Invisibility Cloak to make peace, so I'm confused as to-"

"Oh, shut it," he mumbled, resigned at last. "But if you get me poor marks, I'm forbidding you from doing it anymore."

"Deal."

The very next day, Albus finally had to endure the class period he'd been dreading since the day he'd first begun taking Care Of Magical Creatures. If there had been some painless way of removing the Slytherins from their midst, he might have been able to at least feel he was among friends; alas, as it were...

"Oi, Pottybrain!" Malfoy shouted. It was obscenely plain that Father Christmas had brought him a belated gift in Albus's misery. "Your favourite flying friends will be joining us today, did you know?"

"Bugger off," he said unenthusiastically; there was really no point, but he felt he should at least make his preference known.

"Hope you're ready for a bit of fun," said Malkin, echoing his Housemate's bile as Genevieve Nott giggled. "I've heard they snap up blokes with mould-green eyes for tea!"

"Want me to shove his hat down his throat?" Rose muttered in his ear. Albus only sighed.

"Thestrals terday!" Hagrid called happily as they reached his hut on the edge of the wood. "Yep, they migh' come up in yer O.W.L.s, an' surely in yer N.E.W.T.s if any o' yeh continue on, so I figger yeh ought ter have a bit o' contact with 'em. Everybody's here, yeah? Righ' - inter the Forest!"

The afternoon was the worst of the millenium, as far as Albus was concerned. Perhaps for the students that could already see them - Macmillan, Rose and Malfoy notably among the privileged - it was a decent, fascinating lesson, but for him and the majority of the class, they were presented with a series of unnerving sights, including meat appearing to dissolve in thin air and other students riding around through the trees on invisible steeds. Add to that the Slytherins' constant jeerings and the fact that Hagrid wasn't too sensitive to his misgivings, and he would rather a ghost attacked him. He felt if he never so much as heard the word "thestral" for the rest of his days, it would still not make up for being put through this torture.

He was stomping through the castle with his hands deep in his pockets, surly about it all, when he finally became aware of a voice floating to him from several metres behind. When he stopped and strained he recognised it as his name... more or less.

"Albie!"

When he turned, he was immensely displeased to find himself facing an out-of-breath Ryan Macmillan. "Oh, of course, this is what I needed; you're the very thing."

"The world agrees," he laughed wearily. "Bet you wish you could say the same, eh?"

"Yeah, of course. And what can I do for you today?"

"Not a thing," he gasped. "Got a minute?"

"No."

"Hang on a tick, there, mate," Ryan said, landing deftly in his path of retreat. "I was thinking we ought to have a... er, a talk - y'know, man to man."

"Well, go find another man, then."

"Nah, you'll do in a pinch." He sighed, running his hand over his sweaty brow and through his straw-coloured hair. "Gar, that's just it, though, that right there - it's become far too easy."

"Easy? You call it easy that I'd rather Transfigure your head into a toilet seat than hear it speak?"

"Yes - no - will you shut it? What I mean is, it doesn't feel challenging anymore. Or it might be, but... now it's kind of unpleasant."

"It's _never_ been pleasant, you prat!"

"For you, maybe." He frowned, leaning against a stone pillar. "Merlin, this is weird, but I'm on a roll now; seems a shame to stop the momentum."

Albus's eye twitched. "Why not let it roll you right over the cliff and into the lake?"

"Alfie, listen - it's as I told you back in the Forest, when we were hunting the Angry One. I felt trading barbs with you kept our wits sharp, like we had an understanding - only you didn't understand as much as I thought you did. You thought I was _trying_ to be cruel!"

"How ever could I have got _that_ impression?" he said drily.

"Not how you mean, no," Ryan insisted. "See, here I was, thinking we were getting on great by letting off steam at each other - an essential thing here at Hogwarts, mind you, especially in O.W.L. year - when all along you've had every reason to want my head on a pike."

The plot of their conversation, moments ago nothing but a bunch of double-talk, suddenly came into sharper focus. "Okay, so... what exactly are you trying to say, here?"

Ryan shrugged. "Sorry, I suppose."

It was the closest to sincerity Albus was ever going to get from his classmate, and for some reason, in spite of his overwhelming desire to take out his poor temper on the nearest breathing body, he was not as inclined to turn the apology down flat as he normally would have been.

"I must be out of my head, but... yeah, whatever."

"Ace."

"But don't expect a trophy or anything - I still don't like you."

Another laugh. "Doesn't surprise me at all."

Albus flashed him a thin, pained smile, then set about putting as much distance between the pair of them as possible before Ryan decided to ask him around for brunch over the Summer.

o o o

"Are we talking about the same Ryan Macmillan?"

"I'm almost positive," said Albus as they marched downstairs with their broomsticks, grudgingly ready to submit themselves to Olivia Wood's slave-driving. "I guess he could have modified my memory, or maybe it was an actual nice person with a mouthful of Polyjuice Potion..."

"But this is progress, Al," she hissed as they passed a knot of first-years, all of whom were staring at them in sheer terror. Out of equal parts annoyance and wicked humour, Rose looked back at them sharply, and they scarpered in all directions. "Jumpy little things. Anyway, what was I saying?"

"Progress."

"Right, progress. Ryan's actually willing to apologise for - well, _anything,_ and without being prompted by outside parties! This is a front-page story, mate!"

"Maybe for the Quibbler, but I'm still not sure about his sincerity. How can I be?"

She shook her flaming-orange head. "Don't blame you in the slightest. Still, if he's not having you on..."

"Would be a relief on many levels, yeah." They were nearly to the oaken doors by now, and after a brief deliberation, Albus grabbed her hand and pulled her into the small antechamber he'd brought her to when he made the grievous error of showing her the map without explaining it first.

"Al, what-"

"Why now?" he demanded as she glanced at the door anxiously. "Why is he suddenly trying to reestablish the lines of communication?"

"You git, we've got to get down to the pitch or Olivia'll-"

"She can't start without us and she knows it," he said, half trying to convince himself. "But Ryan... what's he got to gain by burying the hatchet now?"

Her eyebrows kept creeping higher and higher. "How should I know? I'm not his secret confidant."

Still watching her carefully, he ran a hand over his hair and gritted his teeth. "I know, I... it's just been bothering me, you know? It doesn't make any sense, this one-eighty."

"No, it doesn't." She shrugged, eyeing her escape route again. "But maybe if he keeps going this way, he'll tell you himself, yeah?"

"Why the hell do you keep staring at the door like that? Do my problems bore you?"

An exasperated tutting escaped her lips. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten all about practise! Merlin, Olivia's going to ream-"

"Some things are actually more important than Quidditch, you know!"

They stared each other down for a long, long while before Rose told him in a flat voice, "You sound like my mother."

Though he couldn't be entirely sure what she'd meant to accomplish by saying that, it did, in fact, spur him out the door and toward their appointment with hours of passing exercises. "I'm not sure I can forgive you for saying that."

"Well, you did; she's always goading Dad for betting on matches, spending hours finagling tickets to Cannons games... thinks he's 'wasting precious time and gold', like he should be bringing about world peace, to hear her talk."

"Don't twist my words around! I'm only saying people matter more than a stupid game, you know?"

She turned wide blue eyes on him. "How many times are you going to blaspheme in one evening?"

"Oh, nevermind!"

o o o

It had taken her the length of their practise session to forgive him for his anti-Quidditch sentimentality, but Rose did come around - only after Olivia screamed at them about proper attitude and "keeping one's head in the game" for twenty minutes solid because Wendelyne had beaned her with a misaimed Quaffle. This seemed to erode her faith in the sport's sanctity enough to tell him he had a valid point.

The two of them were presented with yet another reason to fire theories back and forth about the ghost attacks when Professor Dryden was not present for Potions next morning. It appeared the staff had not been anticipating his absence, either, because their Headmistress oversaw the class period.

"What's he up to?" Rose mused over supper. "Could have at least left enough notice for them to get a proper substitute; old Sprout knew all there was to know about the plants we used, sure, but kept mixing up methods of stirring, or else forgetting which animal bile we needed. Seemed flustered the whole time."

"You don't think he did a runner, do you? Cut his losses?"

"Maybe... but then that's weird. Why wait a week? If Dryden were that worried about his ghostly plans being discovered, he'd steal away the same night, wouldn't he?"

"Not if he had to book passage or something. What if he needs to go into hiding, and maybe he was trying to find an old friend to do the Fidelius or-"

"I guess," she replied skeptically, but he noticed she wasn't really paying attention anymore. Following her unfocused gaze, he spotted the reason.

Jezabel was sitting low in her seat, hastily sopping up the last of her stew with a hunk of bread. As she took a too-large bite and began to gag on it, trying desperately to make no sound while doing so, she noticed the two of them watching and stopped dead with one thin hand at her pale throat. Then, just when Albus was sure she'd pitch forward and become sick on the table, she stood, picked up her schoolbag and hurried on by them, not troubling to acknowledge their presence further.

"Did you just feel the temperature drop?" breathed Rose.

"She really hates me. Or us, or whatever. She thinks we were trying to hurt her on purpose."

Though she frowned at this possible explanation, she said, "We can't know that - not until we talk to her again."

"Which will happen before or after we've left Hogwarts?"

She nodded her understanding, but switched gears. "The girl's hair's already offensive again. Knew she wouldn't take another bath without me wrestling her into it, but I guess I was holding out hope, anyway."

"We all were," said a voice behind them; Albus spun to glare up at his brother's smirking face. "I mean, she wasn't half bad once you scraped all the grease off, y'know?"

"Get out of it," said Albus automatically. "What do you care about her?"

"Apparently not as much as you. Talk around the courtyard is that you and she have had a midnight tryst or two; any truth in it?"

The hex that exploded on the floor between his feet told James that he'd been misinformed.

"Ever wish you weren't related to a berk like that?" asked Rose as they watched him stalking out of the Great Hall. "No offense, but he must've crawled out the shallow end of your gene pool."

"No offense taken." He stared after James for a moment. "Maybe there's a 'sibling exchange' somewhere, and I could trade him in for you; might have to chip in a few Galleons to even it out, though."

Even as she laughed, he could see her ears grow the slightest bit redder. Before she could comment, however, a shout erupted from the Entrance Hall, and both cousins glanced at each other.

"That was Lily, wasn't it?" Rose breathed.

Albus didn't bother to reply, fully focused on drawing his wand again as he stumbled away from their House table and toward the exit. Once he'd pushed his way through a cluster of Ravenclaw fourth-years, he followed the up-turned gazes of nearly a hundred students and saw what had caused his sister to scream.

Peeves the poltergeist was bobbing around at least thirty feet over the gathered crowd, cackling gleefully as if he were about to drop eggs on their heads - except he wasn't holding any eggs. Instead, he had Timothy Goyle by the back of his trousers, long arms windmilling and face stretched as taught as his unqualified terror could stretch it. No one seemed to be willing to help, as this (slightly) abberrant behaviour from the poltergeist had frozen them all, some students in mid-movement.

"What the-" James was muttering from a spot very near where Albus had halted.

"Great gormless Goyle!" Peeves was giggling loud enough to carry several floors up. "Gargantuan git gulping gravy and getting ghastly gas!"

_"Peeves!"_

It was Professor Weasley who had shouted this at him, having just arrived on the scene. The poltergeist squinted his mean little eyes down at Barty's mother, but only smiled yet wider. "Ickle Clearwater says my name as if it were a curse! Said it that way when I caught her and Percy having a private moment, too! Five times, five times, but now to end my fun she mimes!"

"Stop that!" the professor shouted, who was indeed waving frantically at the spirit even as she tried not to look flustered. "If you don't want me to summon the Bloody Baron, you'd better put him down this instant!"

An involuntary shudder passed through Peeves, and Goyle swung dangerously through the air to the renewed gasps of the onlookers. Then, with a sinister smile that Albus had never seen on his face, he barked, "As you wish!"

It was an odd sensation, watching a body plummet directly toward you from a height that great, almost certain to hit someone, and absolutely guaranteed not to survive the fall. It took but a few long, surreal seconds for Albus to realise he was going to be the someone the Slytherin boy landed on, and had scarcely enough time to raise his wand before he heard a desperate voice shriek, _"LEVICORPUS!"_

Timothy Goyle's thickset frame changed directions and moved through the air in a graceful arc, the bristles on his forehead just brushing Albus's as he swung to and fro, his ankle suspended by an invisible rope. Once his eyes unclamped and he realised he was not splattered all over the flagstones, he began struggling to regain ground, glancing up at his ankle as if to make sure Peeves hadn't caught him up again. Apparently, though, Peeves had fled the scene.

Albus slowly took in the crowd surrounding he and Goyle. Most faces were watching them, both still afraid they would crash into each other and stunned that it hadn't happened yet. However, several faces were turned in another direction altogether. One of such faces was Professor Weasley's, whose wand was drawn and lips paused in mid-incantation, amazed that another student had reacted first. Finally, Albus found the focus of the stares, and felt his own eyebrows raise.

 _"L-Liberacorpus,"_ whispered Jezabel, and Goyle landed atop Albus with a _THUMP!_

In the minute or so it took him to disentangle himself from Goyle's gorilla-like limbs, he tried to process what had just happened. Peeves, his first suspect in the ghostly attacks, back to old tricks? Or was this his first trick? And then there was the fact that he could have died if Goyle had hit him full-force from the ceiling, which he tried not to think about just now as it made him feel queasy. Lastly, though the professor had been readying to cast a spell of some sort to try and save both he and the falling Slytherin, she'd been beaten to the punch.

Though a few students had begun whispering frantically about what happened, Albus heard a strange sound from somewhere off to his right. A moment's searching found Tranquilius Thomas, clapping as he stared at Jezabel with nothing short of admiration.

It caught on quickly: first when Rose and Caspian Lewis joined him, and then the same Ravenclaws Albus had barrelled through moments ago. Albus could scarcely believe what he saw, and wasn't sure it was the best thing to happen for the castle's most reclusive tenant, but the entire student body seemed to be applauding her, and it wasn't long before Professor Weasley joined them.

"Well done, young lady!" she cried as she arrived at Jezabel's side, beaming. "Such quick thinking, and a very brave thing to do, I must say! I'm not sure how to- there has to be- fifty points to Gryffindor!"

Jezabel only nodded weakly, trying in vain to make herself insignificant in the midst of a throng that was focused entirely on her and her recent good deed. She looked rather faint.

When Albus's mind emerged from the fog, he found he was also next to her, both hands on her shoulders. He only paused a moment to marvel at this before instinct kicked in again, and then they were hurrying up the first floor corridor toward a tapestry that disguised one of his favourite shortcuts.

"Whew!" he panted, collapsing onto a step. "That... that was..."

"I- I didn't- they-" She was looking at him desperately, hands clutching at the wall for support. "You have to go back, tell them!"

"Tell them what? That they're right? Goyle's fat head was going to smash into a greasy spot, and you stopped it - you're an honest-to-God heroine!"

"They've misunderstood, I wasn't trying to... I c-couldn't let you be-"

But then a hard, glazed look came over her as the confusion began to drain away, leaving her to realise where she was and with whom. Unwillingly, Albus admitted to himself that the expression on her face might just be a bitter form of anger.

"Jezabel-"

"I... I'm glad you aren't hurt. Goodbye."

"Wait!" His hand caught her thin forearm instinctively as he stood, and he blinked when he found his fingers closed around it with ease. Her eyes grew wide and fearful behind a few loose strands of hair.

"I- okay, I'll- please, I won't go-"

He let go immediately, a sick feeling washing over him. "No, you're- I'm not forcing you to stay, but... can't you, just for a moment?"

"But..." The bitterness returned, now mixing with the fear into a tincture of uncertainty. "All right."

"You're... you're cross with me. Everything that happened a couple weeks ago, it's your right, and totally understandable. But please, you have to know I w-"

"I thought I could tr-" Her words caught in her throat, and she took a few quick breaths to steady herself. "It's a new one on me, I admit, but... you got me to believe you were my friend, to trust you. This is my fault, I made the mistake, I forgot the rules and didn't wait, and you had to reteach me."

Shards of ice trickled down his back as her words began to catch up with him. "What are you talking about? I was trying to- and we couldn't have known- and- dammit, you're twisting it all about!"

"No, no I'm not." Her eyes were leaking tears, but she was more in control of the rest of herself than he'd ever seen her. "You think I'm blaming you, but I'm not; I know I was the careless one. I don't want you thinking I don't know that, okay?"

"How were you careless?" He stepped toward her, ignoring her automatic flinch. "It's mostly my fault our last Hogsmeade trip was ruined! Meanwhile, you just saved my bleeding life, and- and now you think I'm trying to yell at you for being mad at me?"

"You want to pretend again." The hollow smile only made him more frustrated. "No, I- I do understand, you're not to blame here. And you want to pretend you don't blame me, which is okay; I'll remember, and I'll be more aware from now on. You don't have to worry."

Albus could feel his mind becoming unhinged from the sheer magnitude of her misinterpretation. Gathering himself for one last effort, he pinned her to the wall, looking directly into her deep, enveloping brown eyes and forcing himself to again disregard the way she shrank from him. "I _am_ your friend, Jezabel, you _can_ trust me! The bath - I'm sorry if it upset you, but I didn't want you to get sick! And Belinda Toussant ransacked your room, I was trying to get your stuff back!"

Though she continued to tremble, an eyebrow raised. "Why are you lying? I can tell, I've watched you enough to tell. You were going through my things with them - why don't you want to admit it?"

"Because I feel like an idiot!" He backed off, sinking back down onto the steps. "I... Merlin, I thought I was doing the right thing, trying to prove you weren't a threat to stupid Brunhilda, but... I made everything worse, and I feel like a complete idiot!"

"Did you see my... m-my cards?"

He blinked up at her. "What?"

But he only got a shake of her head before she started backing up the stairwell. "Listen, Albus, it's very late, now, so... we should all get some rest. Yes, a nap is in order, yes. See you around, then?"

"Jezabel! Hey, Jezabel, wait, come back!"

For all the good it did him to shout, he may as well have asked his ears to switch places. Nearly a minute had passed before a painting on the wall to his right grumbled, "But it's not yet eight o'clock... my, my, that young woman sets herself an early curfew."

_END Chapter Twenty-Nine_


	30. Apportioning Blame

Because he had not yet been blamed directly for any of the awful goings-on at Hogwarts, the staff were able to tempt the Bloody Baron to keep Peeves in line by whatever mysterious power he held over the poltergeist. Many suspected this was also because with them breathing down the necks of all the ghosts, his usual hauntings had been censored in such a way that the Baron grew quite bored, and had taken to actually conversing with Nearly-Headless Nick and the Fat Friar, his contemporaries. Intimidating Peeves offered a pleasant diversion for the Slytherin spectre.

The poltergeist himself, though grinning through the entire questioning, professed himself shocked and alarmed at the near-fatal experience he'd granted Timothy Goyle. No one could prove whether or not Hogwarts's master of chaos was in control or even aware of the events, and therefore let him go about his usual mischief. Though he resumed pulling irksome pranks involving jellied pig's bladders or live grasshoppers, he dared not do anything so grave as threaten the life of a student whilst under the watchful gaze of the Baron.

Albus was faced with a deluge of conundrums to solve, and most of them hinged on that fateful Wednesday that he had narrowly escaped death by falling classmate. Rose and most of the students were eager to discuss Goyle, Peeves, and anybody else that might have had something to do with this most recent attack. Meanwhile, there was another matter he was more personally concerned with.

"Can we stop talking about whether or not the Slytherins invented Peeves and deal with something much more horrible?"

"What, what?" Rose asked urgently before rolling her eyes. "Oh, that."

"Yes, that! Don't you think we ought to _do_ something?"

His cousin sighed deeply as she stared out over the dreary, half-lit grounds, relaxing against the stone edifice of the school. "What, though? It sounds to me like she's got it firmly planted in her mind that she's to blame for everything since the Crusades. Hard to break down those kind of mental barricades."

"There's got to be some way to convince her," he muttered. "I can't believe I did this, I-"

"You didn't!" A brief hesitation. "Okay, so perhaps we didn't do a very good job of holding onto her trust, but it's her own warped mind telling her it's all her fault for falling for our 'trap'. No sense beating yourself up."

"You're wrong, though." He shook his head determinedly, watching as a hippogriff circled Hagrid's hut before coming in for a landing. "Even if we were blameless, we still have to try and clear this up. How can we call ourselves Gryffindors if we don't? How can we move on knowing we gave up?"

"Dunno... but we may have to. Albus, she might never come around, you know - have you considered that?"

"I'd rather not just yet."

She nodded sadly at him. "Mmm... neither would I."

Even before this discussion, he had tried many, many times to catch Jezabel Skirrow alone, or else say something in a rush to her in passing, but her typical pattern of complete avoidance had been resumed. He briefly considered sending Dobby through her window with a letter and asking the owl to peck at her until she sent back at least a brief note, but this seemed such a juvenile, mean-spirited way to force a response. He resigned himself once more to giving her space, which he felt he was doing too much of recently.

Something occurred the following afternoon to relieve Albus from the monotony of waiting, and distract the students from their constant gossip about Goyle, his saviour and the ghosts' newest attack. During lunch, a strange, wizened old man in crisp black robes tottered through the Great Hall and up to speak with Headmistress Sprout and Professor Flitwick. He seemed oblivious to the blatant stares of every student in the room.

"What d'you suppose that's about?" Aiden McLaggen asked James.

"How should I know? Looks like some daft codger paying a visit, nothing spectacular about that."

"Perhaps - except I've never seen him around here in my life." Cousin Barty's brow furrowed. "Come to that, my father has taken me with him to the office a myriad of times and I haven't seen him there, so he can't be Ministry brass."

"That _is_ curious," said James thoughtfully.

"Have any of those Extendable Ears on you?" Albus whispered to Rose.

"Are you mental?" she hissed, eyes flying open as she dropped the last bite of her toast into the milk jug. "We can't spy on the staff in the middle of the Great Hall with a thousand witnesses - we'd never get away with it, and probably net ourselves detentions through sixth year!"

"All right, all right, just a thought!"

"Well, unthink it!" With a glance around, she continued, "but I have to admit, I'd love to be a dragonfly on _that_ wall. C'mon, let's get ourselves to Astronomy."

They had scarcely gone a few paces from their House table when they experienced a sort of traffic accident involving Gwydion Lahey and Dorika Dunsmore. The four of them struggled to maintain balance for a time before landing hard on the ground amid gales of laughter.

"Way to watch where you're going, Lahey," Ryan Macmillan chuckled from nearby. "Thought you were supposed to be the brightest wizard of all time!"

"Stuff it," Albus shot at him as he pulled himself up by using the Hufflepuff table for leverage. "Everybody okay? Anything broken?"

"I believe I'll survive," Gwydion grunted. "Here, allow me, miss."

"Oh," said Rose, blinking at his proffered hand a few times before taking it. "Er, thanks."

He smiled modestly as he readjusted his recently-bent glasses. "Of course, of course."

"Again, such lousy luck," Dorika gusted as Albus helped her to her feet. "Thank you so much, Albus; I'm sorry, are you all right?"

"Ahh, Mum always said my skull's got an Unbreakable Charm on it," he laughed as they all headed out of the Great Hall. Before they could quite reach the doors, however, a voice rang out that startled everyone, including a few of the staff.

"There's your culprit!"

Without knowing why, his heart began thumping wildly as he turned to investigate. What had he done now? Was this about the ghosts, or some other misdeed he'd allegedly perpetrated? Just as his eyes locked on Atticus Malkin and his pointing finger, the boy elaborated. "It's Dunsmore, I'd bet my mother's crystal!"

An outbreak of muttering filled the hall as they all watched Timothy Goyle stand, nostrils flaring, face pale as parchment. Scorpius Malfoy, on the other hand, turned his gaze from Atticus to Goyle, then over to Dorika. "Hmm..."

"It makes complete sense!" Genevieve Nott screamed, lip trembling melodramatically. "He puts worms down your robes, and then you have to punish him! You're the one who nearly k-killed him!"

"N-no!" she squeaked from Albus's flank. "What? No, of course not, how could you say-"

"She was there when it happened," put in another Hufflepuff third-year. "I did see her."

"Then so were _you,_ Iggy!" Rose snapped. "Honestly, what kind of logic are you working with?"

"But she had motive." Albus was shocked to hear those words come from Catherine Orchard. "There's no denying that."

Ryan Macmillan laughed harshly. "You want motive? Look around! Plenty of people here wouldn't mind seeing that dumb ox dropped on his-"

"Yeah, but only one student would be twisted enough to do it!" The voice was so annoyingly familiar that Albus was already groaning long before he identified it. "Too many excuses have been made for Jezabel Skirrow, and I for one think Dorika's being framed by her!"

"Fond of that bulbous nose staying in that shape?" Albus flung at Brunhilda. She blustered, but her words were cut off by an exceptionally loud _BANG!_

"That is quite enough!" Professor Longbottom shouted down at them all as he lowered his wand. "All this 'he did it, she did it' bollocks! Five points from all Houses, and the first person to speak will lose themselves an extra ten! You'd think we were running a nursery!"

o o o

"That Vane is such a _pain!"_ Albus exploded the moment they had left the Astronomy Tower. "Give me a break - Jezabel tried to kill Goyle, only to turn around and save him? What is she _like?"_

"Actually..."

"What?"

"Al, it wouldn't be a bad plan. No, wait, listen!" Rose hurried ahead. "I'm not saying I think she did it, honestly, I believe she's innocent as much as you, but... logically, it would be a really clever plan. It would make Jezabel out to be a hero, put everybody off thinking she might be the true threat. Hiding in plain sight, you know?"

"But she didn't! Rose, I can't believe you of all people would-"

" _OI!_ " she shouted angrily. "Didn't I just say I don't believe a word of it? Merlin Ambrosius, you can't hypothesise at all, can you?"

"Excuse me."

Once, when Albus had been six or seven, he and his brother and sister had been playing in the small, rusty playground across the street from their house with the other neighbourhood children. James, being the boy he'd always been, had caught Albus's trousers by the ankles, given a hard tug, and introduced their playmates to the cartoon characters embroidered on his underpants. Few moments in his life could rival this level of mortification, and he was more surprised than anything to find he was in one of them.

"Oh!" said Rose, her voice nearly an octave higher than it would normally be. "J-Jezabel, we, er... what are you doing here?"

"I have class here," she said meekly, holding up a volume entitled "Heuristic Bandying On Heavenly Bodies". Her eyes were darting to either side of them, as apparently they were blocking her way up the staircase. Albus had been hoping for a moment like this, though in his mind it hadn't involved being caught gossiping.

"Ahh," Rose was stammering. "I mean, of course, that is, er, you, um-"

"I'm sorry," Albus blurted, quite a bit sooner than he'd intended. "For everything, everything, just stop ignoring me, okay?"

But she only nodded vaguely. "Hmm, yes. I... I really must get to class, I don't want to be late-"

"You've got loads of time," said Rose, not bothering to hide her exasperation. "And... we both want to talk to you."

"Well, I- I-" He could see the colour rise in the bump on Jezabel's nose as she steeled herself to do something very difficult. "I'd rather you didn't. Please, can't you let me pass?"

"Al's been a bit stupid," she volunteered, causing his eyebrows to hike skyward. "But honestly, he's never tried to hurt you, has he? Give us another chance, we're not the enemy!"

A hollow laugh. "I know you aren't. Excuse me."

Before either of them knew what was happening, her slight frame had snaked its way between them and was now hurrying up the stairs at a frantic pace. They stared after her, mouths hanging open.

"Did... how did that... huh?"

"You said it," Rose replied.

o o o

"We have to talk about Jezabel."

It might have been what Albus had been saying for ages, but he hadn't expected to hear it from his sister. "What? I mean... what about her?"

"There's something wrong with her, really wrong," she went on, pulling him to a quieter corner of the common room. "I'm not sure what, but somebody has to take action on this."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed. "She might be the Ghost Whisperer, and also the Heir of Slytherin and a bunch of other made-up titles that-"

"Not all that rubbish! I mean... I mean she's emotionally unstable!"

"She might be, but does that make her any less a person?"

"Albie, will you shut up?" Lily glanced over her shoulder at where some of her fellow third-years were sitting on the other side of the common room and lowered her voice. "Yesterday, I passed her in the hall, and... well, it's somewhat embarrassing, but I, er, I hugged her for saving your life."

"You _what?"_

Her face contorted into the most uncomfortable grimace he'd ever seen. "Don't make a fuss, all right? Anyway, I'd scarcely finished telling her why I was giving her a squeeze when she pushed away from me, looked me straight in the eyes, and- and burst into tears!"

Albus's hand felt back for the wall, and he leaned against it heavily. "She did, eh?"

"Yeah. Albie, I don't know if you did anything, or if she's just like that, but... there's a lot going on in there, and I think she might need help."

"Help? You mean... you mean a headshrinker?"

"They're called 'psychiatrists' in polite conversation," she said coldly. "And it doesn't mean she's barking, but, well, can you honestly tell me she's in a fit mental state?"

"No more than any of us are, no," he gusted.

"It's only a thought," she said defensively. "Like I said, I'm not trying to say she's lost her mind or anything, I'm-"

"I get it, Lils," he said harshly. "And... well, at least you're thinking about _her_ well-being, unlike most people who're babbling on about how weird she is. That's decent of you."

She shrugged. "Anyway, er... yeah." And she moved to rejoin her friends, leaving Albus wondering whether her opinion was entirely out of order, or held a grain of truth.

o o o

Wednesday dawned cold and hazy. It was a sort of cold that may break halfway through the day to allow for a bit of warmth, but few in the castle held out hopes for this; therefore, most students were surprised when it happened.

"Wow, it's actually nice out there!" Rose told him at lunch as she bumped into him in the entrance hall. "Come on, let's have a walk down to Hagrid's, we-"

"No thanks," he laughed. "Better off not knowing what I'm missing while we're miles beneath the earth."

They eventually proceeded down into the aforementioned dungeons, in which they were greeted by the return of Professor Dryden. The wizard looked so decidedly sour that no one dared speak, even before he called for quiet.

"Now, then," he said coldly, running his hand through his closely-cropped hair as if trying not to go mad. "We're working on a particularly sharp Befuddlement Draught today. It's a favourite of mine, invented by the great potioneer of millenia past, Lactuca Goulash - also known for her tantallising recipies for stews and soups. We shall split the class up alphabetically, then divide you, as, hmm... let's see now..."

By the shaking of heads and whispers, Albus was sure he was not the only one who couldn't figure out Professor Dryden's method of seating arrangement for this potion-brewing session. Rose decided he'd been sampling goblets of their assignment before they arrived. At the end of a long, confusing period of milling around the room, Albus found himself at a table with Genevieve Nott, Tristessa Gulch, and Wayne Elphinstone, each one somehow appearing to be more disappointed than the others.

"The ingredients and instructions," he called, "are on the board." And so, with a wave of his wand, they were. "You may begin."

It wasn't terrible; Albus had been dreading working alongside two such unpleasant Slytherin girls, but they had decided to ignore him, which made his potion work much easier. If only it had lasted the entire class period...

"So, Potter," Tristessa whispered, overly-glossed lips sneering. "The rest of us have been curious. Are you glad the Mudblood traitor saved your life, or would you rather she let you get flattened than be in her debt?"

Genevieve snickered, but Albus only bent determinedly over his Levisticum officinale, trying to blank them out. To his utter shock, however, Wayne did reply. "What are you talking about? Of course he's glad she did it, aren't you?"

"Why would we be glad she did it?" Genevieve spat.

The normally quiet boy was aghast. "She saved Goyle, too, or had you forgotten that part?"

Both girls blanched.

"Not that we're best mates, mind you," he said darkly, "but... well, nobody deserves death by poltergeist."

"Yes, well." Tristessa cleared her throat before continuing. "Sure, it's good she saved our Housemate, but it's not as if she did it out of loyalty; I mean, she abandoned us, yeah?"

"And then there's the fifty stupid House points she scraped for Gryffindor in the process," said Genevieve through gritted teeth. "And we're supposed to be out toasting our good fortune, you say? Fat chance!"

"Wow," Albus breathed. "Guess I hadn't realised Slytherin were such a bunch of competitive ponces they'd rather lose a friend than let Gryffindor pull ahead in the House Cup."

Genevieve was livid, gripping her pestle so tightly it actually cracked. "Yeah? What do _you_ know?"

"Rather a lot!" Dryden blustered from the end of their table, causing Albus to slip and cut his fingertip with his knife. "Taking time out of your studies to insult your Head of House seems a waste of energies to me! Don't you have quite enough on your plate? Must you belittle my intelligence as well?"

The girl's eyes were wide enough to ride a dragon through, and her mouth was working to grovel quickly as she could manage. "N-no, Professor, sir, please, never! I was talking to-"

"Ten points from Slytherin!" he shouted, and two dozen voices gasped in unison. "And the next time you revisit this issue, we may find ourselves with a month's detentions, young lady - if not _expulsion!_ Of all the impudent, adolescent..."

As he stalked away from the table, swearing under his breath, all four students gaped at each other, momentarily united in their confusion. Then, Tristessa realised she was regarding the two Gryffindor boys as equals and turned her back on them, and Genevieve collapsed against her cauldron under the weight of landing on the Potions Master's hit list. This was unwise, as her fringe dipped into the unfinished solution and began to produce a thick, acrid smoke that eventually forced the class to evacuate their classroom.

"What - _KAFF!_ \- what was _that_ all about?" Rose coughed as she ran.

Albus shook his head. " _KAFF!_ \- dunno - _KAFF!_ He seems unusually - _KAFF!_ \- harrowed!"

"Hang on - _KAFF! Aguamenti!"_ A jet of water doused both she and Albus in the face, washing the smoke from their throats as they escaped into the courtyard. "Whew! Genevieve sure has got some pungent hair, doesn't she?"

"It was weird," Albus breathed as he sank down onto the grass, gripping at it with one hand. "Dryden just... just snapped at her! Couldn't he tell she wasn't talking to him?"

"He was already in a mood when we got there, wasn't he?" She plopped down next to him, leaning back in her usual, carefree manner. "Wanted any excuse to let off some of his pent-up rage, I'd expect. Have to admit, though, you'd think he'd find a target from Gryffindor instead; makes him look bad to dock his own House points."

"It is strange... oh, well. At least I've got the memory of Genevieve Nott's face to reflect on in times of stress, now."

"Oh, I know!" she giggled, cheeks bunching from the memory. "Wish I'd had a camera!"

o o o

Their Astronomy practical that night lasted far too long, in Albus's opinion. Rose kept pestering him for answers to certain moons she hadn't studied, and Wayne in turn pestered her, and old Professor Sinistra finally started throwing bits of chalk at them whenever anyone spoke, which quieted them very soon. All in all, he was relieved to descend the tower.

"So, I figure we ought to start in on Peele's essay first," Rose was yawning as they crossed toward their corridor. "It's what we'll need in the morning, and it's not too bad, just five inches. _Then_ we can finish the chart of Jupiter before we go over Banishing Charms for the thousandth-"

"Are you hungry?"

"What?" She blinked rapidly at him, readjusting the strap of her schoolbag on her shoulder. "Er, no, not particularly. Why?"

"I'm feeling a bit peckish, and that sounds like studying that warrants fuel." They had nearly reached the Fat Lady when he made his decision. "I'm going to try and get into the kitchens."

"What? But... but it's already after midnight! If anybody sees you down the Hufflepuff corridor this late you'll have no excuse whatso-"

"Not if I have a very special birthday present."

A few minutes later found a displeased-but-resigned Rose bidding him farewell just outside the portrait hole, tucked safely beneath the Invisibility Cloak he'd fished out of his trunk. "And if you get caught, I never knew anything about this, you lunkhead!" she told the air around her.

"Read you loud and clear, captain! Over and out!"

Albus found it extremely liberating to be thundering down a staircase recklessly in the wee hours of the morning, unconcerned with where Mr Urran might be lurking at that moment. He'd had so little opportunity to use his father's cloak, and he couldn't stop grinning.

'Tickle the pear,' he reminded himself as he jogged down the corridor. 'Will it really work? What if Elizabeth was having me on, what if tickling the pear sends me into the Headmistress's office or something? Wouldn't _that_ be an awful-'

And then, all at once, his excitement was replaced by dread; that noise could only be a scream.

_END Chapter Thirty_

* * *


	31. Flagratattooing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: somewhat unpleasant injury in this chapter. You've been given fair notice!

Silence settled on the castle for a moment as Albus Potter's wary mind went to the ghosts; would he find Nearly-Headless Nick around some corner, throwing another student out the window? Then he heard it again - a high-pitched cry of pain. Instantly, he could tell it was coming from a door to his right; three quick steps brought him to the threshold, where he listened before acting rashly.

"The teacher's pet! Always striving for better marks, aren't you? We'll  _give_ you better marks!"

Another scream cut through his bones and into his spine. What were they  _doing_ in there? He grasped for the doorknob, but it had moved upward several inches; he'd forgotten this classroom held this particular bewitchment, it had been so long since he'd tried to get inside it. As he tried to catch the doorknob again, he heard another voice speaking inside.

"Pleased as punch up there, now, are we?" That had to be a Slytherin and a female, but he still couldn't be sure of whom in particular. "Forgotten all about your roots! Well, we may as well pull those out one by one, then - someone grab her hair!"

Abandoning his scrabbling as a whimpering shout rent the air around him, he leapt backward and whispered, " _Alohomora!_ " He was satisfied to see the door swing open, but began to wish it hadn't.

Several cloaked figures were squeezed into the tiny room, crowded around a lone figure wearing the usual school robes; the head was pulled back so far by one of the figures' hands that he couldn't identify it properly. As he stared into their hoods, trying to make out any of their features, he watched them gaze out into the hall.

"What's going on out there?" one of them hissed quietly. "There's... nobody's opened the door!"

"Forget it, let's just get out of here!"

"What? But we've got her by the-"

"I said  _forget it!_  Move!"

Panic seized him as he flung himself away from the door, pushing flat against the opposite wall as five or six cloaks whipped by on their way to opposite ends of the hallway. At the very moment of passing him, one of the hoods fell back and he recognised the sharp jaw and morose eyes of Tristessa Gulch before she was able to replace it and dash out of sight.

Dread slowly returned to him as he stalked toward the nearly-empty room and the sobbing figure on the floor. Though he had known from the instant he heard the voices in the room speak, hope tried vainly to manifest itself even now. Mightn't someone else be in there? Couldn't it be another student, any other student, just this once?

Of course, it wasn't any other student; it was Jezabel, it was always Jezabel. And when he had finally entered the room, stowed his cloak and shut the door behind him, Albus half-wished he hadn't decided he was hungry.

The sleeves of her robes were completely shredded from shoulder to cuff, and a few slashes on her upper chest and stomach were apparent from his vantage point. Her tatty old brown shoes, something Albus thought might stay with the girl throughout her entire life, had been removed and apparently melted into an abomination of their former shape, dripping bizarrely in the corner. Both hands were covering her sobbing face, and there was a sickening stench of roasting flesh hanging in the air. He clutched at his own scalp when he saw a clump of hair lying nearby.

"J-Jezabel," he whispered as quietly as possible; she still convulsed as if a gun had gone off. "What- who was- my God, I'm so, so sorry, I can't believe-"

"Nngh!" she screamed wildly. "No, not you, go away, leave me alone!"

His heart sank. Even in the face of this horrible situation, she held onto her mistrust. "But... but you need to get to the hospital wing, you're badly-"

 _"Go aw-_  no, please, I- Albus, how can you be here, why can't you keep your nose out?"

"That is  _enough!"_ he growled, surprising both of them equally. "Dammit, this is unbelievable! I'm sorry things have been so messed up, and I'm to blame for all of it, and- and you can hate me all you want, but I am  _not_ about to leave you like this no matter what you say! You're- blimey, you're bleeding all over the- wait."

It was then he saw the lines. Up and down her arms, all over her hands and elbows and stringy biceps. They were red and raw, bubbling, and tiny ribbons of flames were burning low along them. It made no sense, he wasn't sure what he was seeing - and he was especially mystified that he hadn't noticed she was on fire before now.

"What the bloody hell is  _this_ about?" he said in dark amazement, bending down to touch one of them.

 _"NO!"_ With a mighty jerk, she moved out of his reach, but only just. "Don't touch me,  _nobody_ touch me, I- I don't want to be here, I want to be alone!"

"But what did they do? How can you be burning like that, what's-"

 _"FLAGRATE!"_ she shrieked at him, the one eye he could make out through gaps in her fingers wide with fear, agony and fury. "It's all over, and- get out of it, you fool, I mean it!"

_"Finite Incantatem!"_

Instantly, a magical wind swept over Jezabel's body and the flames went out, though the smell of burnt flesh remained thick on the air. As the smouldering skin began to cool, he bent low, gorge rising as he examined the horrible burns along her arms. All at once, the patterns coalesced within his mind.

"'Freak'," he whispered. "'Traitor', 'Mudblood', they- words, all over, they're-"

 _"Shut UP!"_ This time he involuntarily threw his hands over his ears, her volume was so painful. _"No, stop, don't look at them! Why on earth won't you get out of here and MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS?"_

"Jezab-"

_"GO!"_

His hands curled into fists as his eyes stung with hot tears. "No, I won't!"

_"Get out! Leave me alone!"_

_"NO!"_

It was as if he'd been robbed of free will; he knew he shouldn't do it, knew it would neither solve anything nor make either of them feel better, but his hands had already clamped around her wasted wrists and forced them away from her face.

It was bloodied, to be sure, and bruises were already apparent. A couple of her teeth were missing, and though he knew Dorika's had been regrown easily enough, it was no less painful to look at. A few minor cuts continued to bleed, and if he wasn't mistaken (a small mercy he would have traded his life savings for at that moment), her nose was also broken. Tears streaked through the blood and into her matted hair.

"Why do you keep coming?" she sobbed, still struggling weakly against him. "Like a stray cat, I... I fed you once, and now you think you live on my doorstep. I... I want you out of my life, I wish I'd never met you - any of you!"

"Yeah, well, friends are exactly like pets that way, aren't they? Stubborn. Now come on, let's get you down to Madam Pomfrey, maybe she can-"

"No, I don't want to go! You can't make me!"

"The hell I can't!"

Unwilling to hesitate another moment, he scooped her up in his arms, nearly overbalancing because it was much easier than he'd been expecting. Her knees fit comfortably into the crook of one arm, and once he'd found her armpit with the other hand her insubstantial weight was easy to bear. Taking care to stow his wand, he jogged from the room.

"I hate you," she screamed into his shoulder, muffling her voice as she snaked an arm around his neck for support. "I hate how you won't listen!"

"You're just going to have to hate me, then. Stop struggling, I'm about to head down the staircase."

They passed two more floors in relative silence, Jezabel only screaming unintelligibly into his robes from the pain. As they neared the doors to the hospital wing, her screams quieted and she blubbered, "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"For all the- for shouting at you, and getting your robes bloody. I apologise for putting you through this, I'm such a useless lump."

"Balderdash. I'm only sorry I showed up as late as I did." Unsure how else to approach this unique situation, he kicked rhythmically at the door, nearly toppling both of them in the process. Jezabel laughed wetly.

"Not had enough practise knocking on doors while carrying people, apparently."

"Guess not," he said with a pained smile. "I'll have to work on that." Before he could say another word, the doors were flung open, and Madam Pomfrey gasped at the sight.

"Good heavens!"

"She needs cleaning up," he said quickly, rushing inside. "And I hope you can do something about these burns, I- I've never seen-"

"Yes, yes, obviously!" she snapped distractedly, drawing her wand and Summoning several flasks of murky liquid from a cabinet across the room as Albus laid Jezabel on the nearest bed. "Now out, out, I can't work with distractions!"

"But I- no! I want to help, you have to let-"

"Absolutely  _not!_  I'll have to cut away her clothing, and progressive though this school may be-"

"Okay, okay!" he said hurriedly. "Just..." Not knowing what else to do, he rushed over to her side and grasped one of her burning hands, hoping he didn't inflame it too badly. "Jezabel, I- I'll be back to check on you in the morning, okay? You're going to be all right, you're safe, now!"

"I know," she whispered. She was shaking, and a cold sweat had broken out on her forehead, but she must have caught the look on his face because she flashed him a bleary, puffy smile. "You go and get some sleep. Thank you for finding me, Albus."

"Anytime."

But as he tore himself away from her bed, as he stumbled down the corridor and up the stairs, he couldn't help feeling he was making a huge mistake. Shouldn't he be alerting a professor, or standing guard outside? But he'd been told to leave, and for valid reasons - not to mention that now the worst had passed, every muscle in his body felt weak and fatigued. As he scarcely made it to his bed in time to collapse from exhaustion, Albus promised himself he'd check on her before his first class, just to make sure everything was tickety-boo.

o o o

Everything was  _not_ tickety-boo.

"What do you mean, she's  _gone?_ "

"Skipped out during the night," Madam Pomfrey blustered at him as she turned down one of the beds. "I regrew her teeth simply enough, healed up the cuts and smoothed over the burns; tended her black eye and the other bruising, did what I could for her broken nose. That bump on the bridge, however-"

"Please, ma'am," he said urgently. "She... she left, you don't know where she went?"

"Yes, and it's a fine thank you, isn't it?" she snapped. "I've given up much needed sleep to tend her wounds, and she can't even stick around for a final check-up! She might have been concussed, or developed an infection, or-"

"No... where could she have gone?"

"I haven't the foggiest! Now, if you would be so kind as to allow me to get back to work, young man?"

He nodded vaguely as he left her to organising her bottles of herbs and medicines. It took him a long time to reach Gryffindor Tower with his mind so heavily weighed upon by scattered thoughts, but when he did, he found just the person he was looking for, already deeply engrossed in  _Quidditch Through The Ages_.

"Olivia! Oi, Olivia!"

His captain nodded at him as he approached, yawning widely. "Morning, Potter. What's up? Got a strategy for Ravenclaw? Five weeks of training left, and I hear Moran is working himself night and-"

"Have you seen Jezabel this morning?"

"Eh?" she blinked. "Jezabel... Skirrow? No, why?"

"Was she in bed when you got up?"

"No, she wasn't." Her eyebrows contracted together. "Er... hmm. You know, I didn't see her last night, either. That's odd."

"Could you... well, I don't mean to put you out, but if you could check for me?"

"Check? Potter, what's all this about?"

"Please?"

In the scant minutes it took Olivia Wood to climb the staircase to her floor of the girls' dormitory, his sense of doom only increased. It reached a fever pitch when she rushed back downstairs.

"Either those house-elves work fast," she panted, "or she never came up last night; her sheets are neat as you please."

"Merlin's beard, no, she can't have run away, it's not- not- I have to go!"

"What? But-  _Potter!"_

As Albus flung himself through the portrait hole, disregarding the Fat Lady's offended gasp, he wondered where Professor Longbottom might be at this hour. In his office? In the Great Hall? Then, just as he was rounding another corner, something leapt out of the recesses of his mind.

Both hands plunged into his robes, one producing his wand, the other the Marauder's Map. Activating it quickly as he could, he tapped his foot impatiently as the ink spread over its surface, tracing the outline of Hogwarts's layout. Leaning against the nearest wall, he combed every inch of the parchment - twice. There was no dot labelled "Jezabel Skirrow".

"How can she not be here?" he breathed to himself, setting off for Professor Longbottom's office at a run - at least he had located one dot that may help him. "Where could she go, how could she get out? I... I can't believe this!"

For the first time since he had arrived by boat before his Sorting, he was acutely aware of how large and sprawling the castle was. It felt bigger with every aching moment it took for him to reach his Head of House's quarters, and by the time he was knocking on the door, he wished it had instead been one of those cozy one-room schoolhouses of centuries past.

"Yes, what - Albus, what's the matter?"

"Jezabel's gone!"

It took nearly twenty minutes for Albus to not only relate the searching he'd undergone to find Jezabel that morning (omitting details pertaining to his father's map and cloak), but also the horrific, savage treatment he'd witnessed the night previous. Though he was sure the Professor saw through his explanation of having "fancied a bit of a walk" that night, he raised no question, only prompting for more information as to the attack and Olivia's search of their dormitory.

"Then obviously Madam Pomfrey can confirm all of those injuries," he muttered at last, the hand holding his teacup shaking slightly. "That's neither here nor there, however. Excuse me. Winky!"

With a deafening  _CRACK!_ , another figure joined them in the room. Albus nearly leapt from his seat when he realised a house-elf was standing inches from his chair, bowing low to the ground. The squat being had a round, bulbous nose and rather sad eyes.

"Yes sir, what does Master Longbottom need, sir?"

"Enough posturing," he said dismissively. "I wonder if you could do us a favour?"

"Anything, sir!" it said earnestly; Albus wondered if it might have been female, for its features were less sharp than that of Kreacher's, and its voice higher and more melodic. He hadn't frequently encountered any other house-elves.

"Ask a few of your fellows to help search the castle for a young lady named Jezabel Skirrow; might you already know who that is?"

"But of course, sir," she whispered sadly. "She is the one who changed Houses, sir! They is always doing terribly awful things to her, sir, awfully terrible!"

"Really?" he asked sharply, scarred brow furrowing. "You've... you've witnessed this kind of behaviour before? Why did you never report it to any of the staff?"

The look she cast up at him was plainly puzzled. "No one is asking us, sir."

Longbottom sighed impatiently. "Well, that's not important just now - if any of you find her, I want you to report directly to myself or the Headmistress, is that clear?"

"Yessir!" And with a salute, she snapped her fingers and disappeared with another  _CRACK!_

"That's that. Now..." The look he gave Albus now was so penetrating he shrank back instinctively. "Are you absolutely, unquestionably sure you saw Miss Gulch among this lynch mob?"

"I am, sir," Albus responded, not troubling to keep the anger out of his tone. "It was her, all right. Just wish I knew who else-"

"Very well." Before he knew what was happening, the professor had thrown a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace behind him, turning the flames green. "Dryden, I need to speak with you, now!"

They had but to wait a few seconds before the Potions Master spun out of the fireplace. "What is it, Neville? I've a bundle of essays to grade, and all before- Potter?" His cold, piercing eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Young Albus here has just told me an interesting story," Longbottom said, fighting to keep his voice even. "Apparently, he happened upon several students in the act of a revival of old Muggle tortures. They were practising them on our Miss Skirrow, you know."

"What?" He frowned in concentration. "Muggle tortures, you- you don't mean they were bouncing her about in the air, twisting her up like a clown with a balloon?"

"Flagratattooing," he growled. Dryden's lip curled in disgust. "Yes, a pleasant image, isn't it?"

"Good lord, I'd thought that one lost to time. Is she... that is, has she survived?"

"That's the hitch - we're not sure. The last was seen of her, Madam Pomfrey had mended all her wounds, but now no one can seem to find her."

 _"What?_  A student's gone missing? Longbottom, we have to-"

"I already have a few elves searching the castle," he assured the now-frantic Potions Master. "In the meantime, there is the small matter of the identity of one of her attackers. There were others, but Mr Potter here has at least positively identified your Tristessa Gulch."

"No," he breathed. To his credit, Dryden appeared to be truly taken unawares by this news - at least, from where Albus was sitting. "You mean to... I don't believe it, that's not possible."

"I'd wager a phial of Veritaserum is in order, wouldn't you say?"

"I... yes, all right, you're absolutely right. Give me a moment, then."

As the Head of Slytherin stalked back into the still-green flames, Longbottom turned to Albus, placing a shaking hand on his shoulder. "Now, listen to me; I wouldn't worry if I were you. Even if Miss Skirrow has left the school, there's every chance she went home, or will turn up in Diagon Alley or some such place. We're going to get to the bottom of this if we can, but you ought to get on with your classes."

"Go to class?" Albus was temporarily dumbfounded; he'd felt certain the Veritaserum was meant for him, to make sure he wasn't spinning wild tales. Either way, the very thought of trying to learn anything after all this... "But there's- no, I- I can't possibly-"

"You must," he said urgently. "I'll let you know personally what's going on once we've cleared it all up, but for now, get yourself to... Defence, isn't it? Run along, there's a good lad."

Albus wanted to shout up at his Herbology teacher, to inform him that he would be taking a seat in the middle of his office until everyone who'd laid a hand on Jezabel had been punished and she was back at school, but he knew it would only land him in trouble. Nodding, he said, "Yes, sir."

o o o

"Come on, Albus, speak to me!"

He sat down heavily at their House table, staring into the bowls and platters without really seeing them. After a moment, Rose slid in next to him, leaning into his personal space to get a good look at his eyes. "You haven't said a word all morning. What's wrong with you?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

"May I have your attention, please?"

They both turned to look at the High Table, where Headmistress Sprout was rising to her feet, motioning for everyone to be silent. Her voice was magically magnified, and Albus was sure everyone within the Hogwarts grounds could hear her words. He'd never seen her normally-cheerful face so grim and severe.

"Thank you. The staff and I must address something of grave importance; this shall be brief, but I expect your undivided attention.

"Last night, an injustice was meted out by a handful of our own students. Here at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry, we haven't made common practise of announcing to the school at large who has received detentions or other punishments, but in this case, I hope this serves as a warning to any of you who may have to decide whether or not to repeat such an abominable action. I am speaking of Muggle tortures."

At this, all four tables began whispering frantically, especially the Slytherin table. Albus peered over to see several of them sporting terrified expressions, looking from the Headmistress to each other. Scorpius Malfoy's face was in his palm, head shaking from side to side in a slow manner. Tristessa Gulch, however, was staring straight ahead, stunned and silent.

"The pranks in this castle, as we all know, have been unusually high in number this year, and we have been tolerant thus far. However, when it comes to bruising, slashing... scarification... broken noses and knocking out teeth... well, those aren't pranks in my book, and won't be given the usual punishments befitting pranksters. Six students, whom I would never have believed capable of actions this gruesome, have been identified as the perpetrators. Of these, Ursula Marrow and Zacharias Travers apparently led the others in their torturing, and having been punished before for similar actions, will not be allowed to continue on at Hogwarts."

 _"NO!"_ came a shout from the Slytherin table. Now the gasps were more pronounced, and the chattering recommenced; a few other students stood, demanding through the din to know what happened and who else had been sent home.

 _"Silence!"_ Longbottom thundered angrily. Sprout, however, motioned for him to regain his seat, and he did so.

"The remaining four students will be serving weekly detentions for the rest of the school year, and have also lost their House a round hundred points." More cries of outrage, which Sprout ignored. "As the entire reason behind their atrocity was related to the House Cup, the latter punishment seems especially fitting. Tristessa Gulch, Atticus Malkin, Genevieve Nott, and Timothy Goyle have brought shame upon Slytherin House, and would do well to learn from this... lest they continue down this crooked path into their adult years. Thank you, that is all."

Ironically, now that they could, no one spoke. While everyone at the other three tables were looking at them in a disgusted sort of awe, the stares from the rest of the Slytherins were lethal. Regardless of how they felt about the torturing or the tortured, none of them could excuse doing something so heinous to cast the cloud of suspicion over all of them, not to mention it would certainly lose them the House Cup. Scorpius edged away from Genevieve, refusing to spare her even the briefest glance.

_END Chapter Thirty-One_


	32. Peeling Back The Layers

"You right bastard!" Rose shouted at him once they'd left the Great Hall, face white as a sheet. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this?"

"Dunno."

"You don't know. Well, that's fine, isn't it? Here I am, being kept in the dark all morning when you knew that Jezabel had run away from school! I ought to snatch you bald!"

Albus chewed the inside of his lip. "What was I supposed to say? 'Morning, Rose, sleep well? By the way, we've lost a student because the Slytherins have redefined sadism, but try not to think about it as we have to finish breakfast, and we're supposed to work on countercurses again in-'"

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped. "You bloody well know I'd want you to tell me!"

He considered a moment. "Maybe. I just... it didn't feel real, still doesn't. How can she be gone, where'd she go? Why did they have to drive her away?"

"You think she fled because of the tortures?"

"You didn't see her," he growled, fingernails cutting into his palms. "Being mangled like that on top of the week she'd been having? When I think about it, I'd have been dead flummoxed if she did hang around, I guess. Course, I've been trying not to think about it too hard because every time I do, I have a strong urge to destroy things."

Though her nostrils continued to pulsate, he could tell she was regaining composure as disgust replaced incredulity. "So... all that stuff Sprout said, scarring, slashing... they really did it to her, all of it?"

"All of it. She had gashes, burns, bruises - even the bent conk. I can only imagine what else they'd have done to her given the chance."

"Well, they've been expelled, now," she said with a righteous nod, though her voice quavered. "Or two of them, anyway, which is worse than those gits usually have to suffer."

"Mmm. Got to admit, though, I am surprised by one thing. With the rest of the gang being there, why wasn't Malfoy? What could he possibly have found more interesting than battering the Muggle-born?"

"Might have been battering somebody else," Rose muttered.

"Yeah. Or maybe he was in the loo. Weird, though."

"So, er..." His cousin's gaze dropped to her shoes as she stuggled to give voice to her thought. "What do we do now?"

"Do... about what?"

"Jezabel. If she's out there all alone, Al, I... isn't it our fault?"

He stopped short, for the first time realising they'd ended up outside on the sunny grounds when they should have been heading up to History Of Magic. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care. "What do you mean?"

"It's like you've been trying to tell me from the beginning: we ought to have befriended her, been watching her back. But we didn't... I didn't. Maybe if we'd told her to meet us somewhere after class, to have a chat or-"

"We can't think like that," he gusted. "Sure, we naused everything up on our end, but we can't take the blame for crap the Slytherins are doing, that's-" But he fell silent when he saw Rose was barely holding herself together, a furious, self-loathing quality to her trembling.

"Al, it's all our fault! Longbottom told us to welcome her into the House, and this is why, I'm sure of it! She needed a safety net, some support, but there's only so much you could do by yourself, I should have been there for her - for both of you!"

To be honest, she was beginning to scare him. "Rose, cut it out, will you? This isn't helping, it- nobody blames you!"

"They should, though!"

"You came around, once you saw - that counts for everything. All those people who saw and felt no change? They're the blighters who ought to be caned. So come on, pull yourself together, yeah?"

She wiped her eyes and nose, sniffling. "Sorry; got a bit drippy, there."

"Feel rather drippy myself." Ruffling his hair, he turned back to look at the castle. "We should head for class."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

Shrugging in unison, they marched straight down to Hagrid's, praying silently that Professor Weasley would understand.

o o o

The rest of the day would be mostly forgotten by the rest of the students in a flurry of accusations, lamentations and desperate explanations. The four accused whom had been allowed to stay on at Hogwarts were shunned everywhere they went, even by their closest friends. Meanwhile, Albus had to endure listening to everyone blunder through to the truth on their own, he himself lacking the will or energy to help explain.

"The Skirrow girl's gone missing?" James was whispering to Olivia just before practise that evening. "Blimey, you think it's got anything to do with the expulsions?"

"Might just," she replied. "Either way, the teachers have seen to it, so we ought to let it be."

Albus felt privately cross toward her and her passive attitude.

Friday was no better. All morning through Double Potions, their professor misspoke and knocked things over, presumably distraught over his own students' vile attitude toward their former Housemate. Albus wasn't sure if Dryden's feelings were truly sincere, being that he continued to suspect him of siccing the ghosts on helpless victims, but decided to give him the benefit of a doubt.

"There are times," he said grudgingly to Rose as he watched the Potions Master massaging his temples at his desk, "that I don't actually think he's a complete barmcake."

"And then," countered Rose, pointing to the board where instructions had just appeared demanding they crank out an essay over Easter break comprising two rolls of parchment. "That's shot my hopes of happily playing Exploding Snap with you, Lily and James next week."

"Potter! Come up here!"

Albus barely stopped himself bawling, "Oh, what now?", deciding to instead walk calmly to his desk and ask, "Yes, Professor?"

"Take this scroll down to Professor Peele's room for me," he muttered, tapping the parchment with his wand to seal it closed before handing it over to him. "Make it back down here before the end of the class period and I'll parcel out a few points."

"Of course, sir."

It was adding insult to injury. Here he was, for once enjoying the tedious, gruelling work of mixing ingredient after ingredient, grateful for any distraction from more depressing matters, and his professor had removed even that from him. How could he have been singing his praises scant minutes before? Albus plodded slowly up the stairs to the Defence classroom, not bothered if he got back hours too late for Dryden's paltry reward.

"...what I'm to do about it," a voice said from the other side of the door. Albus raised his fist to knock, but the very next sentence from the unknown speaker turned him to stone. "She ran away from Hogwarts of her own free will, didn't she? Hiding under her mother's skirt, now, isn't she?"

"Come now, Matt, don't be droll," Professor Peele snapped at him. "There _were_ extenuating circumstances, and you _are_ the one who signed on for this case, aren't you? Are you going to deny that there've been dozens of instances in which they bent the usual rules for a situation like this one?"

"The girl has quit school!" the man named Matt insisted. Albus could tell he was perhaps middle-aged, and sounded as if he were permanently anxious. "We c-can't send liaisons to every dropout in the British Isles, the Auror Department would fall apart!"

"That's what everyone's been saying. Was there an official memo bearing Ministry-approved responses sent out?" The professor sighed heavily, and he was sure he heard the click-clack of her high heels on the stone floor as she began pacing. Ignoring all pretense of innocently happening upon this, Albus pressed his ear against the door. "Pomona says she's made her choice, despite why it was made, and that to pursue the matter would be overreaching. I was thinking of going down to your work myself and asking Potter, but it seems ill-advised to be leaving the school at a time like this."

"Yes, so we've heard. Ghosts still not settled down, eh? Well, you've got Fane here, that's something, he'll sort them out."

"But we don't want them eradicated! This isn't a decision to be made lightly, or have you forgotten your _own_ days here at Hogwarts?"

His voice came over wounded. "Of course not! The Fat Friar was as dear a friend to me as I'm sure the Grey Lady was to you, but that doesn't mean we can ignore the threat they pose at present! Unless we can find the culprit behind their outrageous-"

"But you've heard my thoughts on this, also," she hissed. "Dryden-"

"Yes, yes, of course," he said dismissively. "It's an interesting theory, and I'm not saying you're wrong, love, but... well, as I've said, without a shred of proof..."

A pause. "I know. I know, you're right, Matt. It's aggravating, though."

"I'm sure." Another pause. "Well, I've got to make another run to the island, and then there's a bloke selling Chocolate Toads in Leeds. Perhaps afterward I'll swing by and see about your-"

"Chocolate Toads? But aren't they-"

"Poisonous? Yes, very, and we thought we'd put a stop to them, but..."

"Wizards will be wizards," she muttered so low Albus almost didn't catch it. Both she and Matt exchanged some words quiet enough that he did miss them, and he suddenly heard footsteps approaching rapidly. Realising all at once that he'd been eavesdropping again in the worst way, he leapt backward several feet and began walking forward again just as the door swung open.

"Oh, hello there, lad!" laughed the squat, pot-bellied man with but a few wispy, white hairs covering his head. His smile was genial, but Albus surmised that he spent a great deal more time frowning. "Didn't mean to nearly trample you!"

"Afternoon, sir," he said meekly, trying to sound less guilty than he felt. "I was just delivering this note to Professor Peele."

"Oh, really? Lautitia, it appears you have a visitor!" When he looked back down at Albus, an eyebrow raised. "Say... you seem familiar somehow..."

"I have one of those faces," he replied evasively as his Defence teacher appeared in the doorway.

"Potter," said Peele, mildly surprised. "Something the matter?"

"Ah, yes!" said Matt, snapping his fingers. "Of course you'd be Harry's boy - or else his younger brother, you're so alike!"

"Mmmh," grunted Albus. "Er, Professor Dryden asked me to bring this up."

"Hmm, thank you." She cast a brief glance at the surface before stuffing it into a pocket of her mauve robes. "Oh, pardon my rudeness - Mr Potter, this is my husband, Matthias. Or have you met before? He works with your father at the Ministry."

"Dad's talked about you before, sir."

The man chuckled as he shook Albus's hand vigorously. "I should hope Harry would have mentioned me once or twice by now; I was already a young Auror when your father joined the program. Naturally, it didn't take him long to surge through the ranks with all his experience."

"Matthias, we ought to be letting the boy return back to class," said Peele meaningfully.

"Yes, of c-course, of course," he stuttered, flushing. "Time slips away in great globs, doesn't it? Nice to have finally met you, lad."

"Yes, sir, likewise."

They both watched Mr Peele set off up the hallway for a time before Mrs Peele cleared her throat. "Mr Potter, shouldn't you be getting along?"

"Oh! R-right, Professor, sorry. Thank you."

Many emotions vied for control as he clutched for the railing of the stairs he was stumbling down. Someone was here to eradicate the Hogwarts ghosts? Surely they wouldn't, not after all this time! Albus reached level ground again and slid down a wall, mind racing through the precious facts he'd just gleaned; the arrival of an exorcist, the existence of Chocolate Toads... what island was he talking about? And there was Dryden's name again, brought up in connection with their spectre-related problems. Albus felt he may never truly know what was going on in his own school.

Among all the horrible, stabbing thoughts that came to him on the floor of the corridor, a tiny pinprick of relief forced its way up through the myre and spread throughout him: Jezabel was home. As uncertain as her future may have become, she wasn't out there somewhere, stumbling half-naked through the wilderness and starving. It was enough to stand him up again and send him back toward the Potions classroom.

"...poor choice of-" Dryden stopped short in his criticism of the goop in Elizabeth Larkins's cauldron when he heard Albus open the door. "Ahh, very good, Potter; five points to Gryffindor, then, as promised. Now then, you made a poor choice indeed of nettles here, Miss Larkins. Those could have added an undesired effect to your concoction leaving the drinker with a smattering of multicoloured dots about the, er, nether region..."

"What took you so long?" hissed Rose as they filed out of the dungeon a few minutes later. "I mean, sure, Dryden was satisfied, but it shouldn't have taken-"

"Rose, prepare to go into shock."

o o o

"Here's what amazes me," she said weakly half an hour later as she absentmindedly tried to pick up peas with her knife. "Us students go around eavesdropping on the extremely-gifted teachers all the time, and they somehow never notice. You'd think we'd have two years' worth of detentions by now!"

Albus snorted. "Or that our House points would be a negative integer."

"Well, at least we know who that bloke was talking to Sprout and Flitwick - Fane, did you say?"

"Oh yeah," he breathed. "Forgot all about that geezer. You think they're one and the same?"

The look Rose gave him made her following words unnecessary, but she of course commented regardless. "Al, how many complete strangers have had conversations with the Headmistress in the past few weeks?"

"One, that we know of. That's not saying a couple others couldn't have dropped in without our knowing, though, right?"

"And Peele's sniffing around Dryden again, interesting... even though he was sending her a note. Couldn't you have slit it open and had a gander?"

"Like I know how to do that!" he protested. "Okay, slit it open, maybe, but reseal it?"

"Right, right; you'd be in hot water indeed if they knew you read through their post on top of tabhanging. Blimey, we're really playing catch with the Quod on a daily basis, now, aren't we?"

Albus chuckled. "Angelic, we're not."

"So... they're really giving up on Jezabel, just like that?"

Instantly, his blood ran cold, and he wished she'd go back to talking about the more pleasant topic of dangerous intrusions on personal communications. "Seems that way."

 _"Cor,_ that riles me!" she hissed, bringing her fist down on the table so hard the handle of her knife dented its surface. "They can't spare Barty's mum or somebody to at least go down and say, 'Are you sure you want to kiss your academic career goodbye'?"

"Seems that way."

"Or so they say." She shifted uneasily. "But... at least-"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I had that thought, too."

"It's... Al, could you sleep last night?"

"Not a wink," he admitted, relieved that he wasn't alone in this. "Kept tossing and turning."

"Maybe now we can," she said in a small voice that was very unlike her. "She's safe, and that's..."

"Not enough, but better than nil," he finished for her.

"Verbatim. You sure you haven't picked up Legillimency somewhere?"

"Legilliwhat?"

"Nevermind."

Before he could insist she tell him what she was talking about, Professor Longbottom appeared at their shoulders, clipboard in hand. "Easter break signups - staying, aren't you?"

"Yeah, here," breathed Rose, reaching for the quill. For as long as Albus had attended Hogwarts and probably for many centuries before, this had always been more of a formality than an actual choice, because most students had been set so much homework that the idea of flying home to Mummy and Daddy was only a cruel reminder of the pleasant holiday they were missing. As he watched his cousin scribble her name down on the nearly-full parchment, a scheme began to form in the back of his mind, growing as if a weed in a normally-lurid garden of pinks and yellows, presenting its dark stalks importantly in the centre. It would be worth trying if it worked.

"Very well, then. Albus?"

"No, I'll be going home for Easter," he said quickly. "Thanks."

 _"What?"_ they both said, unable to help themselves.

"Er, the folks have asked me," he invented feverishly. "Something about a birthday party... friend of my dad's. Real drag."

"Oh," said Longbottom, blinking as he tried to hide his obvious surprise. "Well, far be it from me to question Harry- er, your father, that is. Send him my regards, will you?"

"Always do."

Longbottom may not yet have been out of earshot when Rose snapped, "What the bloody hell are you talking about, a birthday party? That's utter codswallop, I could tell blindfolded!"

"Of course it is," he whispered. "But... well, it's my only out, isn't it? If I can just get home, get out of this school, I can-"

"Wait, wait, wait. Are you... no, Albus, come on, that's too harebrained, even for you!"

"No, listen, it- oi, what do you mean, 'even for me'?"

"You're going to get back to Grimmauld Place, invent some reason to go for a walk, and try and catch the Muggle underground all the way to Jezabel's house, aren't you?"

He pretended to be quite interested in the contents of his goblet as he took a drink. "Something like that."

"Al..." She sighed, watching the enchanted ceiling and its swirling, puffy clouds for a moment. "It's not like I blame you; I might have tried the same if I'd thought of it first, but... you have to see how it could turn out. What are you going to do when you get home, eh? Wait for your mum to shout at you before grounding you, then sit in your room and plot an escape for a week before they send you right back here?"

"If that's what happens, it's better than sitting idly by while she misses out on the rest of her education."

"Cor, I wish you'd told me you were plotting this."

Another derisive snort. "Yeah, that would have been _loads_ better; being forced to listen to you talk me out of-"

"No, you git! I want to help! I want to go with you!"

They stared at each other, clearly both confused by the other's mindsets. Then, as a few students began drifting away from the table to head for their afternoon classes, he breathed, "You do?"

"What are you, dead from the neck up? Of course I want to come along! I hate the thought of you being the only one setting off to tell her that... that we miss her!"

"You miss her?" he said incredulously as her ears lit up. "Really, you actually miss her?"

"In a way. All right, so maybe I never had her 'round the house for dinner and drinks, but she's a sharp, kind-hearted person, and there's no real reason she shouldn't be here with the rest of us. I mean, she did save your life, yeah?"

Being reminded of that felt like being doused with cold water. "I wasn't even thinking about that. Wow, good thing I'm trying to do her a favour, cos I owe her a rather big one."

Rose frowned, patting him on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, mate... I'll be tagging along in spirit."

"I know you will." He sighed into the dregs of his pumpkin juice. "Come on, we have to get down to Hagrid's."

As the two cousins made their way out of the castle and across the grounds, Albus reexamined his plan. He'd invented it on the spot, so it was bound to be less than brilliant, but now the whole thing seemed foolhardy and unlikely to make a bit of difference. How would he get to Jezabel's house? Where did she live? Was there anything he could say that would make her return to school? And then there was the most dire thought of them all: what would his mother do to him when he waltzed out of the fireplace unannounced?

"I'm doomed," said Albus glumly.

"I've been trying to tell you that for years," said Ryan Macmillan from a few feet behind them. "What's finally got you latched onto that brainwave?"

"Oh, bugger off, Macmillan, will you?" Rose growled. "We're discussing something important, which pretty much always means you're not involved."

"That right? Talking about the Skirrow girl, then?"

Both of them spun so quickly that he nearly walked straight into them. Albus sized him up. "How did you know that? Been spying on us?"

"Of course not," he said dismissively, brushing a section of fringe out of his eyes. "But it's all anybody's talking about, anyway; fairly safe bet. Besides, you two were in the queue with her last Hogsmeade trip, and I've seen you chatting once or twice, so I thought you might be friendlier with her than the average bloke."

"Well, it's great that you're at least as perceptive as a troll," said Rose icily. "But unless you've got a way for Albus to suss out her home address without breaking any wizarding law, what use are you?"

"Can't help you, there," he said with a casual shrug. "But she has got a fireplace. Why is it exactly that people are always making things more difficult for themselves than necessary?"

"She's got a- hang on." Albus took a step forward, carefully watching Ryan's cocky eyes. "You're saying the Skirrow residence is connected to the Floo Network?"

"Sure it is; that's my dad's job, didn't you know? He mentioned reconnecting it after your Jezzy-Bezzy got turned into a human icicle before Christmas."

"But it can't still be connected," Rose said thoughtfully. "Or... can it?"

Albus was grinning mischievously, now. "Only one way to find out."

_END Chapter Thirty-Two_


	33. The Skirrows

Everything was in place. As fate would have it, Ryan himself was actually going home for Easter, as well; his father was taking him on some sort of camping adventure that both of them thought to be entirely pointless and dull, but it was non-negotiable as his stepmother insisted the two of them spend "quality time" together. Equally strange was the information that Ryan even had a stepmother; his knowledge of the boy who had lived across the room from him for five years was appallingly meager. More astonishing than any of this was Ryan's willingness to help at all, but Albus wasn't going to look a gift-horse in the mouth (though Ryan often reminded him of a cremello his sister had coveted when they were younger).

"All right, boys, looks like it's just the two of you," Longbottom said with a yawn. "Off you go, then."

"After you," said Ryan with an extra dash of pompousness. Albus smirked, then paced forward with his heavy bag slung over his shoulder, laden down with all the homework he'd be slogging through over break.

"Sir," Ryan began quietly as Albus took a wealthy pinch of Floo Powder from the pot on the mantle, "would you mind if I asked you something?"

At the very moment the Professor said, "Of course," Albus let a thin phial drop from the sleeve of his robes and into his palm.

"I've been reading up on gillyweed, since it was our first password of the year," Ryan was saying as Albus fought with the stopper. "Might it come up in our Herbology O.W.L.?"

Sparing the other two in the room the briefest cautious shifty, he finally unstoppered the phial and allowed the powder to fall inside, then replaced the cork and shoved it into his bag. "Of course not," Longbottom said, now glancing back at Albus as he helped himself to another pinch of powder. "It's such a rare plant, and its usefulness isn't very widespread; still, that isn't to say it won't come in handy now and again. Your father would know that, wouldn't he, Albus?" Here, Albus was sure to nod appreciatively, though he couldn't be bothered to remember why at present. "But you needn't worry about it for O.W.L.s, no."

Ryan flashed him what Albus considered to be quite a cheesy smile. "Thank you, sir."

Not wanting to wait another second, Albus tossed his second pinch of powder into the fireplace, watching the flames turn green. Then, just as he walked inside, Ryan created the second, necessary distraction he'd requested, though it arrived in a form he had not been expecting in the slightest.

"Mr Macmillan!" said Longbottom, half-laughing, half-appalled. "That's disgusting!"

"I am so sorry, Professor," Ryan replied loudly at the very moment Albus whispered, "The Skirrows'". As the room spun away from his vision, he heard Ryan saying, "Had some stale Fizzing Whizbees this morning, don't think they agreed with me..."

Grate after grate flashed past, blurring into an amalgam of unfamiliar sitting rooms, grand foyers and dingy dungeons. Then, when one stop began to feel more "right" than the others, he concentrated on arriving at his destination, and lo and behold, he did.

"Oh _GOD,_ not again!"

Albus blinked dazedly at the figure who had moments before been sitting in a rather ugly old armchair nearby, watching a reality programme on the widescreen high-definition television in the corner. She was perhaps two or three years older than him, and from what he could see, had been assembled from the choicest bits of the most attractive girls in Europe. Despite the shocked and annoyed look on her face, her teeth were straight as an arrow, lips full and symmetrical, and her pale blue eyes shone like diamonds. Long, honey-blonde hair rippled from scalp to shoulder like a waterfall, and the rest of her figure was curvy and petite. Much though he couldn't object to her presence, he hadn't at all expected to be greeted by such a girl in Jezabel's house.

"Er-"

 _"MUUUUM!"_ the girl wailed, as if her mother were several towns away. "Mum, another one's just come out of the fireplace!"

"Hey, w-wait," he stammered. "Am- am I at the right house? Are you-"

"You'll want to see my stupid sister, won't you?" she snapped at him. "Yeah, Jez lives here, if that's who you're after."

"Y-yeah." It was an overload of unexpected information; Jezabel's dark, willowy self held nothing in common with this full-figured, rosy-cheeked blonde creature. Not only that, but so many things in this room were unfamiliar to this young wizard who had such limited contact with Muggles; the plasma screen he could identify from many, many shop windows, but there was also a personal computer on the desk against the far wall with what looked to be a small bear dancing across its black screen, and Albus had no idea why a thin, flat typewriter should be sitting in front of another, smaller television. Also, being in the same room with these modern conveniences, the distinctly threadbare carpeting and dilapidated furniture made them seem out of place, not to mention the peeling paint and squeaking ceiling fan.

The sound of heavy steps coming from above him brought him back to his senses, and he became aware that the unknown blonde girl was watching him suspiciously, as if he might nick their expensive Muggle artifacts. Smiling nervously at her, he felt quite thankful when someone else entered the room from a stairwell around the corner.

"What's all this- ah," the middle-aged woman said, lips pursing as she looked down at the soot falling from his shoulders onto the carpet, taking in his robes and Hogwarts bag. "So you'll have come out of the fireplace, too, then. You magical lot are persistent, I'll give you that."

"Are you... Jezabel's mother?" Albus asked hesitantly.

"I am." This had been more along the lines of how he'd envisioned her family: jet-black hair pulled into a bun at the base of her neck, sharp bone structure, cold, black eyes. Her thin mouth was now held at a slant as she edged cautiously around him. "She's upstairs."

"Sorry?"

"Jezabel!" she snapped, sounding very like her other daughter had seconds previously. "Good lord, at least the other chap seemed sure of what he was doing, even if he stuttered twice as much. That Ministry of yours could use a once-over, you ask me."

"Oh! Oh, no, sorry, I'm not from the Ministry," said Albus nervously. The last thing he needed was to be convicted by the Wizengamot of misrepresenting a government employee. "Well, er... I'm a friend from school. I apologise for dropping in like this, but-"

"Mmm," Mrs Skirrow grunted dismissively. "Jezabel's upstairs in her room; won't come out for anything, so best of British luck to you."

"All right, er... will you tell her I'm here? I've haven't visited before, and I don't suppose it'd be proper to barge on up and-"

"Nevermind that rubbish," the blonde daughter laughed. "She'd probably be just as shocked a living person came to see her either way; might as well skip the middle step."

It was then, as Albus focused on the bright new clothing and fine silver locket this young lady was wearing, that a phrase floated out of Albus's distant memory; "The same way my mother likes my sister better." Everything that had happened since his arrival at their house lent that claim a great deal of credibility.

"You're probably right," he said, struggling to remain polite in the face of his boiling anger. "I'll, er... I'll just go on up, then."

"You do that," the mother said. "Don't dawdle overlong, though; rather not make me husband put up with an unwanted houseguest on his weekend off."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Much to his dismay, he felt no better once he was ascending the steep steps to the first floor landing. What now? He'd spent so much time recently figuring out how to make the journey that he'd neglected to draw up a plan of action once he'd infiltrated the stronghold.

There were five doorways. One was wide open, and looked upon a queen-sized bed with very drab sheets; the master bedroom. Another had a lacey ribbon hung on the knob and a pale pink sign that bore the word "Adora" nailed at eye level. The third was slightly ajar and had a tile floor; a bathroom. He took note in case he needed to vomit very soon from nerves. When listening hard, he heard chaotic rock music coming from a fourth door that had been painted with black and blue stripes, and though he could be mistaken about Jezabel's tastes, decided this must belong to another sibling he had not met. This left one plain, unadorned door that had been resolutely closed. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

"Go away!"

Albus glanced toward the lavatory again as he knocked one more time. This time, her pained voice called, "What? Have the Ministry sent another owl?"

"Jezabel, it's- it's-"

There was a thundering of footfalls, and a much clearer voice spoke urgently from against the door. "Albus?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "I... well, that is, can I come in?"

This had become the year of long, uncomfortable silences, and as he enjoyed another one, he set his schoolbag down outside the door, hoping the wait wouldn't be more than an hour or two. Finally, he heard her whisper, "You shouldn't have come."

"Jezab-"

"Go home, Albus. I... I don't want to see you. Please go."

Out of desperation, he grabbed the doorknob, but it was locked. "I just want to talk to you, please?"

"No use trying," she said, speaking in an emotionless tone. "I've locked it magically, and- and if you try unlocking it, you'll get in trouble."

"Oh. Wait... wouldn't you have been in trouble for locking it to begin with?"

A pause. "Well... yes. They sent an owl, it... it made me feel terrible, but I can't stand the sight of anyone just now. And if I unlocked it for you, I'd get in trouble, too, so-"

"So you have to stay in there," he said, beginning to grow impatient with her lack of logic. "For how long, though? Do you have any food in there?"

"Not much," she admitted. "But... I'm not sure there's any point in eating."

"So that's it?" he demanded of the wooden obstruction. "You're going to let yourself starve to death in there? Jezabel, you can't, that's such a-"

"I can, and I will. Or I'll figure out something else, and then I'll come out, but... but for now, this is the only place left for me. It's my last haven."

"Jezabel, please let me in this room."

A pause. "No."

"I mean it, I want you to unlock it. I promise I won't stay long."

"And I promise I won't unlock it," she said, displaying unprecedented backbone. "Go home, Albus. Or... go back to school. Forget you ever knew me, because you won't see me again. It was a pleasure to have met you. Goodbye."

"But-"

 _"Goodbye,_ Albus."

He felt as if he'd been slapped in the face. How could she shut him out entirely? The only choices left to him were to face charges from the Ministry, face bringing _her_ up on charges from the Ministry, or wash his hands of the whole thing. It was a Catch-22 like none he'd ever encountered. Slowly, achingly, he picked up his bag and moved toward the stairs, but as he reached the topmost step, he heard her family discussing him on the floor below.

"Did he even say what he wanted?"

"Not at all," the daughter replied airily. "Just that he wanted to see Jezabel. Can't we brick up this fireplace?"

"Might not have to if she keeps herself holed up in there. Honestly, she goes to all the trouble of getting those broom-riding nutters to fund her education, then gives up six years later? The girl is a nuisance."

"I've always said so."

"Not like my Adora, of course," the mother said lovingly. "You'll be off to study acting while she's moping about upstairs. I'm certainly not paying for normal schooling myself if she's going to waste her beloved Hoggywarts' public fund; throwing good money after bad. We're not millionaires!"

"Speaking of money, though, mother dearest - can I borrow twenty quid? Margret and Natalie and I are going to the movies tonight and I'm low on petrol, plus we were thinking about stopping for pizza afterw-"

"All right, all right," she said playfully. "You needn't provide an itemised checklist. Here, but try and stretch it out a bit longer than last time."

"Cheers, mum!"

As Albus listened to them tittering away, blissfully ignorant and uncaring, something pounded behind his temples. The beast that normally lay dormant in his stomach had awakened once more, this time sounding the cry of conviction rather than revenge. He would not be going home without a fight. It took him no time to bring himself in front of the door again, draw his wand and growl, _"Alohomora!"_

It flew open easily, banging into the adjoining wall. As he crossed the threshold and heard a cry from the corner, he found himself at a loss for words.

Blank canvas. Every inch of the small room was white, from the bedsheets and bedposts to the area rug placed atop a whitewashed wooden floor. A white chifferobe stood against the blank white wall next to a white laundry basket and a white writing desk. No posters, no stacks of comic books, no dirty clothes or games or pets or anything. The only dark points in the room were the back of a picture frame atop her white nightstand and Jezabel herself.

Before he could fully recover, something thudded against the doorjamb to his right; he ducked instinctively, even though it would have been too late if her aim were better.

"Get out of here!" she shouted, trying to back up further even though she was already in her bed, pressed right into the corner. "Wh-what are you doing? You c-can't come into a lady's room without knocking!"

"I did knock," he said dully, still not quite over the state of her barren living quarters. He bent to pick up the object she had thrown at him only to find it was an empty plastic cup.

"Then... then you can't enter without permission, can you? S-so you'll have to leave!"

"Oh, come on, stop it!" he said pleadingly as he straightened again to look at her properly. "Can't y- y- wow, okay, you were right."

"Get out!" she shouted again, trying to cover herself more completely; this may have been the second time he saw her in her smalls, but it was no less flustering. Albus suddenly became very interested in the plastic cup, which bore the logo of a popular restaurant he'd never visited. "Y-you can't stand around like that, I'm- I'm-"

"I'll turn around while you change, but I'm not leaving."

"But- but I'm-" She was approaching meltdown, so he turned to close the door. "You can't stay, you- you have to go, you have to g-go now!"

"Might as well get some clothes on, because I'm not leaving," he repeated flatly. "And I'm going to turn around eventually, whatever you've decided to wear."

"I- but you can't- but-" He could've sworn she whimpered, but then he heard a drawer sliding open. "Fine, then, I... but what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"

"We _both_ should," he muttered. "But... no, it's Easter break. Decided to spend mine trying to find you."

The room was quiet for a moment, save the rustling of fabric. "Easter. I'd forgotten, I'm sorry. So, er, how's your cousin?"

Idle chit-chat was as good a place to start as any. "Fine. She wanted to come, but she'd already put her name down to stay at Hogwarts."

"Oh. Well..." Another thump. "Have there been any further assaults by our phantoms?"

"Not since you saved my life. Can't thank you enough for that, by the way."

"No, no, you needn't. No trouble." A small cough. "Er, ah... you can turn around, I'm decent."

When he did, he saw she was wearing the same red-and-green floor-length skirt as the day he met her, though paired with a dark brown jumper this time. For all it had calmed her, she may as well have left the clothes in the chifferobe; her face remained a solid scarlet.

"Good. That's that."

"Yes." She crossed over to her bed again, sitting down gingerly on the edge. "Now... why are you here again?"

His jaw dropped in exasperation. "To talk to you! I mean, you ran away in the night before I got a chance to make sure you weren't going to die, I thought I might at least-"

While she had been biting her lip, she stopped now. "Don't. I knew you weren't going to show. The past few months, it's all been like that, everything- I don't understand my life anymore. When I was a Slytherin, I understood, I had a place and I knew how to find it by heart, but in Gryffindor? Everything is topsy-turvy, I can't find my way, and I- and I'd just as soon not go back. It's too painful, especially... well, you. You and Rose."

"What about me and Rose? No, wait, don't answer th-"

"You were so kind to me that I forgot." Her voice was so low he almost couldn't hear her for the muffled music from the neighbouring room. "Or almost. Almost forgot that kindness can kill, and it did; I opened myself to you, took liberties, and you punished me." She hesitated again, as if unwilling to admit something to both Albus and herself. "Perhaps you weren't trying to, but it happened because I let it happen. I'm even doing it now in a lesser capacity, but that's only because you- you-"

"What? What did I do now?"

"You won't leave me alone!" she gasped, fighting back a powerful surge of something Albus couldn't quite place. "You won't let go of this, and- and I need you to, so I can put the walls back up, but you're s-so stubborn!"

"Okay, here it is," he blurted suddenly. "You've got this idea in your head stacked triple-thick that everyone is out to get you, but we're not! As many arrogant, pig-headed Slytherins as there are making life more difficult, there's just as many of us who genuinely want to befriend you! But we can't do a very good job of it if you won't let us past your defenses at all, can we?"

"I don't _want_ to let you in!" she wailed. "It's... it's so much harder, I liked it better when I only had my own dementia to deal with, because I _know_ me! Intimately!"

He couldn't explain why he was angry with her, but he was. "That's great, then. You stay locked up inside your own head, and all the rest of us are trapped on the outside with no way to reach you. Because it's too hard. Sorry to have disturbed you."

"You don't understand," she spat, hands clutching the sheets tightly. "I... I'm not allowed, and I thought maybe I'd found someone who could give me the permission, but I was wrong, wasn't I? You tried, but horrible things kept happening, and you were part of-"

"What 'allowed', what are you on about?"

She laughed hollowly, as if he were missing out on some cosmic truth. "I'm forever being judged, by a higher power or the spirit of the earth, or whoever you like, but- but I am. I get ideas above my station, and I'm beaten back down. Better to accept it and stay where I am than keep trying to rock the boat."

"Ideas above your- Jezabel, we don't live in a caste system! Those fairy tales, the ones you were afraid of when you were little, they're not real - I know that kind of thing can stay with you, but you can't let it rule your existence, not anymore! The only one with the power to give you permission to think or feel is _you._ "

Another shake of the head. "No, that isn't true, it isn't. Albus, I- I'm not that strong. I don't know why you think I should be able to just... change my entire life, my way of thinking because you want me to, but I can't, I d-don't know how!"

"Let us help!" He swallowed painfully, taking a step toward her. "Right, so maybe our idea of helping sometimes forces you to take a long-overdue bath, or makes you listen while we tell everybody you were pranked in Madam Puddifoot's, but... we're only people, too! Do you realise that? You are not the only one! We're all mucking it up as we go along, but I'm trying to learn!"

"Learn all you want, that's what school is for, but stop using me as your test subject! I... it hurts too much, especially from you, because you're my frie- my friend."

It was the first time she'd ever managed to admit this to him, and he could tell she regretted it even before she finished speaking. The word sounded raw and exposed in the midst of this argument, like a naïve rabbit that had wandered into a vicious den of wolves. Finally dropping the collectible cup he'd been clutching, he took another step forward. "Jezabel-"

"No!" she shouted, suddenly trembling and scooting back on the bed. "No, you can't use that, you can't claw your way through that door, I won't allow it!"

"Why does everything I say have to be so threatening?" Sighing impatiently, he stomped right up to her bed and plopped down on the edge. "See? The floor's not caving in, we're not going to die. Having friends may not always be a picnic; my cousin has taught me that, but... we would miss you, me and Rose. I'd miss you."

She shook her head slightly in disbelief, though her tone was uncertain. "You're lying, aren't you? I c-can tell when you're-"

"Then take another look."

To his mingling joy and trepidation, she crawled forward and peered directly into his face, brushing the ever-present grimy hair from one of her dark, shining eyes. And then, so sudden he almost yelped aloud, she collapsed onto his shoulder, sobbing as her fingernails dug painfully into his neck.

"I've been such an idiot! I have, Albus, I can't tell you- I- you're so good to me, and I've been a horrible- you only wanted- I'm so very, very sorry!"

"Shh," he soothed, patting her back and hoping this uncomfortable part of the healing process wouldn't last very long. The relief that was washing over him mostly eroded away the discomfort, anyway. Several minutes passed with only the sounds of her sobs and distant heavy metal within the room before he ventured more words. "Don't fret over it. You were in a right state, it's natural."

"No, I- so many times, me always running off, and you were- were- Albus, how can I ever make it up to you?"

"Well, that is a tall order," he sighed into her hair. "There's only one thing I can think of; you'll have to sell your soul on the black market."

"What?"

"Oh yeah. It's the only way to make enough gold to repay a debt like this. Well, there is one other thing I'd take in place, actually."

She drew back to stare at him in disbelief. "And... and that is?"

"Come back to Hogwarts," he urged. "Please, please come back? I know it's been rough, and I know the Slytherins need a good thumping, but you can't let them prevent you getting an education! You're so bright, it- it would be a waste if you don't! And then there's the part where I miss you, which we agreed is not a lie."

She chuckled softly, wiping her eyes. "That we did."

"Besides... Ursula Marrow and Zacharias Travers have been expelled."

"They haven't," she gasped. "When?"

"The very day you left. Headmistress Sprout seemed to think their idea of a laugh was a bit too bloody for her taste and sent them packing."

"Then it's my fault," she said with a frown. "I got them chucked out of school."

"They got _themselves_ chucked out," he corrected her. "No matter who they'd done that to, it's inexcusable; even Professor Dryden seems disgusted with them, and I have a feeling he's done a fair few Muggle tortures in his sordid past."

Jezabel allowed her legs to dangle over the side of the bed, toes skimming the white area rug. "Are the other Slytherins... terribly cross with me?"

"Maybe the four who were lynching you, and as far as I'm concerned they deserved what they got; nobody messes with my friends." He pretended not to notice the colour returning powerfully in her pale cheeks as he went on. "As for the rest of your old House, I think they were more angry at your attackers for losing them a hundred points."

Her jaw dropped again. "A _hundred?"_

_END Chapter Thirty-Three_


	34. The Three P's

The morning before Easter Sunday of Albus Potter's fifth year at Hogwarts was the day he discovered how much a person can have to say to someone who has scarcely spoken to you for over a month. He and Jezabel stayed in that room for a long while, not because either of them were scared to leave anymore, but simply that there was nowhere else more important to be. Albus was able to help her understand how things were for he and Rose as children in all-wizarding (or nearly so) families, living in semi-historical buildings and frequenting Diagon Alley, which Jezabel drank in with shameless enthusiasm. Meanwhile, though she wasn't terribly forthcoming at first, Albus also discovered a lot about Jezabel, most of it tragic, some of it funny, and all quite fascinating to him.

"So _that's_ why you got an 'E' in Potions," Albus breathed. "I thought that was weird, you're so amazing at everything."

Jezabel shrugged modestly, falling back on her bed and staring at the ceiling. "It was awful; I wish Professor Nott hadn't poked his head in, he always made me so nervous - I was already beside myself from taking my O.W.L.s as it were!"

"But you were doing all right before the spill, yeah?"

"If I'd been doing any worse, the horrible mess I made would have earned me a Dreadful, I'm certain." A quiet laugh. "That reminds me of the time I was four, and I got fingerpaints all over the sofa. Wow, that was an experience."

"Really? How'd it look?"

"Like sitting on the rainbow," she snickered, and Albus joined her. "Personally, I thought it was beautiful, but Mother and Father were furious, I thought they'd never stop shouting; Mother, especially."

A point of confusion from earlier came back to him. "Hey, is... is your dad fair-haired?"

She nodded. "Everybody wonders about that when they see my sister and me together. Or, anyway, I assume that's why you wanted to know."

"She just looks so different from you and your mother; are you sure she isn't adopted?"

"Even if she were, her and Mother get on so well you'd never know." All at once, she sat up, horrified with herself. "That's not to say I dislike them, though! I don't want you to be under that impression, I love my family, I do!"

"Can't imagine why," he spat. "Your mother said she wasn't even paying for your education. Is that true?"

She shifted uneasily for a moment, then slumped back against the wall. "It is. When Professor McGonagall was discussing the matter with us, Mother announced that she could not afford the school and would never pay for me to attend. The headmistress told her that Hogwarts would take care of everything, and that was that."

"That's... if she can't afford your schooling, then why do they have all those fancy Muggle gadgets downstairs?"

"The telly? Yeah," she sighed, nodding as she tucked a tangled strand behind her ear. "Father bought it last year; he got a big promotion at the office, was all of a dither for weeks. I almost mentioned that we should have repainted the downstairs with the money instead, but... well, they wouldn't have listened to me."

Albus's mind boggled at their complete mismanagement of priorities. "But what about giving that money to Hogwarts, now your dad's got more income? Shouldn't that have come first?"

"Of course not. Why should they when Hogwarts is already paying for me?" Fingers toyed with a fraying corner of her pillowcase for a moment before she continued. "When I'm out in the world, I... oh, but it's silly to think about such things so far in advance, and what if I fail my N.E.W.T.s?"

"It's not silly," he said quietly, folding his arms over the back of her deskchair. "Go ahead."

"Well, when I leave Hogwarts and find my purpose in life, I... I want to compensate. That is, to make up for using their public fund. I'd like to find a way to put a lot more money back into it than I took, you know?"

The broad grin that spread across his face was totally involuntary. "That's a very noble thought."

"Oh, stop," she muttered. "I only want to do what's fair."

He laughed as he picked at the dial on his watch; then he noticed what the watch was telling him. "Holy hippogriffs, look at the - I've been up here for over two hours!"

"Two hou- _hours?"_ Jezabel reached over and grabbed his wrist with surprising speed. "Oh dear, that means-" But then she seemed to become aware that she'd taken hold of his hand and released him, letting both of her own hands fall into her lap, cheeks flushing.

"That means... what?" he prompted.

"Hmm? Oh!" she gasped as he brought her back to her previous train of thought. "Father will be back from golfing soon - he won't exactly be thrilled with finding strangers in his house first thing when he gets home, and he'll _really_ dislike it if he's had a bad day out!"

"Golfing, golfing... that's a sort of Muggle game with metal sticks?"

"You should go," she whispered urgently. "I mean - not that I want you to leave, I- I wouldn't want you to misunderstand me, not now, now we've- we've- but you shouldn't be here when he gets in, that could be disastrous!"

"Not a personable fellow; got it," he replied, swallowing hard as they stood. "Guess I'll... I'll see you at school? Promise?"

She flashed him a nervous smile. "Don't worry, I'll be there. The Auror who came before said I'd only missed two days, so there wouldn't be any make-up exams or reapplications or rubbish like that involved if I came back before Easter break was over."

"That's a relief. And about that Auror; do you reckon-"

Both of them froze at the unmistakable sound of knocking on her door. Albus shot Jezabel a desperate glance, unsure whether he should be a bit wary or utterly panicking.

"Yes?" she called meekly.

"Jezabel Skirrow and Albus Potter," said a familiar voice. "The Improper Use Of Magic Office would like a word."

Though the colour drained from Jezabel's face so quickly Albus was afraid she was suffering rapid blood loss, he called out, "You'll never take us alive!"

Jezabel made a sound resembling a baby bird as the voice responded. "Our orders weren't specific about whether or not you be breathing when questioned, boy. Surrender your wands or I'll have to Confringo this room."

"Do your worst!" he shouted, trying not to snort. "I've got a, er... a Divination book, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

The door opened, and in walked Harry Potter, leading the way for Mr Peele and a reedy man he did not recognise. Though both acted as though they were suffering through a dreadful cocktail party, and Jezabel was now visibly swaying, Harry laughed as he clapped Albus on the shoulder and said, "A Divination book? Really, Al, what use is that in a life-and-death situation - or _any_ situation, for that matter?"

o o o

Immense relief settled over both Jezabel and Albus when the Ministry officials informed them that a Colloportus and Alohomora were not sufficiently dire infractions of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery to earn them time in Azkaban. As it turned out, Harry had asked to deal with it personally due to the involvement of his own son; Peele was there because (as Albus had already discovered) he had been assigned to Jezabel's case; and the other bloke really was from the Improper Use of Magic Office and was there to make sure Albus's father wasn't too lenient.

"So until you've turned seventeen, young lady," the crotchity wizard was growling down at her some fifteen minutes later, "we might try using the Muggle locks if you don't want to be disturbed, mightn't we?"

"Y-yes, sir," she whispered to her now-stocking-clad feet. Albus had somehow missed when exactly she put them on; he had probably been sufficiently distracted by the presence of so many people who had the authority to snap their wands in two. "O-of- of course."

"What's that? Speak up, can't make out a-"

"Oh, leave off, will you, Pickering?" said Harry. "She's been through quite enough to be going on with the last few days, according to Peele, here."

Matthias Peele shifted uncomfortably; when he spoke, he directed his attentions to Jezabel. "All true, then? Really, Flagratattooing?"

"Of course it's true," Albus answered for her. "You calling her a liar?"

"No no no, g-goodness me!" he spluttered, mopping his sparsely-covered forehead with a handkerchief. "That is, it's such a ghastly... things like that don't happen every day!"

"They shouldn't happen at all," Harry muttered before clearing his throat. "At any rate, I'd better be getting Al home so he can see to this, er... birthday party, was it? Funny, I don't think any of my friends are having a birthday for at least a couple of weeks..."

For the first time he could remember, Albus's ears mimicked his cousin's.

The five magical folk soon gathered around the fireplace, Peele withdrawing from his robes a silk pouch of Floo powder (Albus smiled to himself when he realised he needn't have stolen any from Professor Longbottom after all). The remainder of the Skirrow family stood well back from them.

"Nice to have met you," said Mr Skirrow bluntly. He was a weathered sort of man, giving off the impression of someone who was severely overworked and underappreciated. His thin blonde moustache came to a point at both ends, the right-hand of which twitched as he said this. Albus had noticed a tall bag now sat upright in the corner of the room with strange, cloth-covered knobbly things poking up from its depths. One of these was bent slightly, as if the owner had thrown it when in a towering temper.

"Likewise," said Harry politely, offering his hand. The man seemed to consider whether or not their magic would come off on him before shaking it. "We'll have to have you around for tea."

"Why not now?"

Everyone stared down at Albus, and he suddenly felt as if he should have posed this question in a more tactful manner. "Er... I, uh... well, all I meant was that you're welcome anytime."

"We've a busy evening," Mrs Skirrow lied through her teeth. "Thanks."

"Another time," laughed Harry. Albus had heard him use this false, over-hearty laugh at frivolous social affairs, and usually just before he made his escape. Sure enough, he was edging toward the fireplace, but before he could reach it Adora spoke up unexpectedly, trying her best to sound as if she were merely being kind and helpful.

"Jezabel, would you like to go with them? We may be tied up, but I don't expect _you_ have other plans."

"What?" she replied in noticeable alarm. "Oh... well, er, that is I- no, but I couldn't impose, that's- rather rude of-"

"Nonsense!" Albus's father beamed. "Our dank old hovel is your dank old hovel! I believe Ginny's making a strudel for pudding tonight if you're staying, and you really shouldn't miss that."

For some reason, the mention of his mother caused him to realise all at once that if Jezabel came with them, she'd be forced to spend at least a few hours with his family - or his parents and their house-elf, at least. That was a sort of cruelty you did to your fiancée a few weeks before the wedding, and here he was asking her to do it for no reason at all, moments after his father had barged in on their first real, non-strained conversation. She must have been thinking along similar lines, because her face reflected that of a small animal caught in the headlights of a much larger automobile. But how to uninvite her without sounding like he didn't want her to come?

Then Albus's heart sunk like a stone, because Adora wasn't finished twisting the knife. Her hands came to rest on her sister's shoulders, eyes unmistakably lit up with an malicious glee. "There you are, Jezzy! Avoided another night of reading alone, now, haven't we? Do behave yourself!"

That, it seemed, was that. He tried to flash Jezabel a reassuring smile, but she was staring determinedly at the fireplace as Peele tossed a pinch of Floo powder into it, turning the low-burning flames green as they leapt higher. The Muggle family behind them made nervous noises.

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!" shouted Matthias. Were they going to stop by, as well? But he was gone before Albus could ask, and moments later, the man named Pickering had also said the same and disappeared.

"After you," whispered Harry pointedly; it appeared he presently trusted Albus no further than he could throw him, and he found he couldn't blame his father for those misgivings. With one last glance back at the unpleasant family, he stepped forward into the fire and announced his destination. He was again spinning through the ether, feeling nauseous as he watched swatches from the great patchwork of the human race flash by. Then, almost too soon, he found himself being chastised in a familiar old kitchen.

 _"There_ you are," his mother snarled the moment she laid eyes on him. "Taking a bit of a holiday, are we? Lucky for us Neville is professional enough to ask the Floo Network to make sure students end where they're supposed to, or you might still be lost out there!"

"I wasn't lost, exactly," he muttered as he moved toward the scrubbed table.

Her smile was poisonous. "Oh, that's right. You'd planned this from the beginning, hadn't you? Don't know how you would have ended up at a friend's house otherwise! Did your plans include letting the school and your family worry over you until you saw fit to reappear? I ought to take that flippant attitude of yours and stick it in- oh!"

Jezabel had just fallen out of the hearth. Albus couldn't help but think a fresh coating of chimney soot only made her look more pitiable and sad, and the fact that she hadn't put any shoes on over her socks didn't help, either.

"W-well," Ginny Potter began, at a complete loss as to why an unfamiliar youth had wandered through her fireplace. She began working from the most likely explanation. "Er, Albus, aren't you going to introduce me to your... friend?"

"Of course," he said hastily, glad of any reason for her to stop yelling at him. "Mum, this is Jezabel Skirrow; Jezabel, this is my mother."

"Ah," she said simply, shooting a glance back at the table where the Auror and Improper Use wizard had already seated themselves. "Hmm, I think I'm beginning to see the larger picture. Albus thought the Ministry hadn't made a proper go at convincing you to go back to school?"

When Jezabel only gave her a frightened nod, his mother rubbed Albus's cheek with her thumb affectionately. He wished she wouldn't do anything so embarrassing in front of a schoolmate, but he was in no position to protest if he didn't want to be grounded over the entire Summer.

"Hullo, Gin," said Harry as he joined them in the kitchen. "Hope you don't mind an extra mouth!"

o o o

By the end of a hastily-assembled afternoon tea, Albus was kicking himself under the table for rushing Jezabel's visit. He was surprised she wasn't kicking him, also; her supreme discomfort was so obvious he began to try to think of some clever way to distract everyone while she made a run for it. Nothing feasible came to him.

Albus listened carefully to what the two Ministry officials had to say about their involvement with Jezabel's plight, but learned far less than he'd done outside the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom. Pickering, it seemed, had no personal stake in things whatsoever, and scarcely knew anyone in the Auror department other than by name or deed only. His sour disposition left no room to question why this was the case. Matthias, on the other hand, hinted that he'd been involved in the newest Gryffindor's life for quite some time, but why? Perhaps he'd been called in to assist with acclimating her to wizarding culture, but that sounded like a task best left to some sort of Muggle liaison officer.

At long last, the apple strudel was sitting comfortably in their stomachs and his father's co-workers were preparing to Disapparate. The Improper Use wizard was gone almost before he finished bidding them farewell, but Peele hesitated. After an awkward moment, he spoke to Jezabel.

"Young lady, I... that is, I hate to be a bother, sounding like a broken record, but-"

"I'm going back to school," she said with a patient smile. "It's all right."

"No, I only- oh, nevermind. You're not leaving Hogwarts prematurely, that's what matters." He beamed down at her before tipping his hat to Ginny politely, thanking her for the meal. Then, he turned on the spot and vanished.

"Twitchy bloke," Ginny sighed, wiping her hands needlessly on her robes. "Always thought so. Anyway, Albie, why don't you show our guest around the house?"

Albus smirked. "In other words, you want to get rid of us so you can have an adults-only discussion."

Harry laughed a little too loudly. "Right the first time; we need a moment to conspire. Go on, then."

He shrugged at Jezabel and led the way up the steps and onto the ground floor. Once there, he apologised sincerely, but she cut him off.

"Don't worry about it," she whispered, taking her cue from his low tones. "It's not your fault they need to discuss what a bother this whole situation is."

"I don't think they think that," he said uneasily. Did they? He'd like to think otherwise, but it was a distinct possibility.

"Irrelevant," she insisted. "Anyway, um... what's behind this curtain?"

The various rooms and related stories took the better part of three hours to get through. Jezabel listened intently, the same look of transported contentment present as had been in her room when he was babbling about his childhood. Though he was loathe to admit it, even to himself, it felt quite good to have someone pay this much attention to him.

"And here we have my room," he said flatly as they crossed the threshold. He'd been putting it off for last, hoping he'd never have to let her see it. "It's rather ugly."

"No, it isn't," she breathed, eyes wide with wonder as she stared into every corner. "It's brilliant. I only wish my room were like this."

"Yeah, I noticed it was kind of... well, it's-"

"White."

"Yeah, that."

Jezabel's lips pursed as she examined the hideous rosebud cap he'd been given for Christmas. "Mother won't let me decorate it at all; says it's best to keep it pristine so if we sell the house, they won't have to repaint it or anything. She goes berserk if I leave a mess about, also, but I wouldn't want to in the first place. I like a tidy room, just not..."

"Not one so empty. Wow, that sounds-"

"What's... Albus, what is this?"

He was pulled from thoughts of how maddening it would be to live in a plain white room to find her staring at the serpentine chandelier hanging in the centre of the ceiling. Her eyes wandered to the silver-and-green curtains on the window, then back to him, wide as saucers behind her hair.

"Oh, that. Er, well-"

The urgency and excitement in her tone confused him. "W-were your parents in Slytherin, too? Is that why you didn't dismiss me when I was in a different House, because you- you knew firsthand they don't always go wrong?"

"It's only from-"

"My God, Albus!" She glanced again at the chandelier, breathing troubled. "Maybe... did the Sorting Hat think about putting _you_ in Slytherin, too?"

 _"No!_ This stuff was here before I was born, it belonged to a- a sort of great-uncle of mine!"

Her face fell. "Oh, I- sorry, I d-don't know what came over me. I must have sounded quite scatty."

"It's okay," he said hastily. What just happened? "My... well, it's complicated, but my father's godfather's family were all Slytherins. This was his brother's room."

Albus noticed her tone was rather flat now, as if she'd used up the rest of her emotions moments ago. "So this isn't the Potter family home?"

"Only for about twenty years. Before that, it belonged to the Blacks for ages and ages."

"Is that what this is about?" She indicated the coat-of-arms on the wall behind his bed.

"Yeah. Er, I don't know a lot about him; only that he was a Death Eater, but he turned traitor for us and it cost him his life. Dad says Kreacher's locket came from him, and Kreacher-"

"Yes, Master Albus?"

They both turned to see the house-elf staring in at them from the doorway, and Jezabel gasped at his sudden presence. Albus was saddened to see he looked yet more pale and thin than at Christmas. "Oh, I- sorry, Kreacher, we were just talking about Regulus."

"Master Regulus?" His large, half-blind eyes were suddenly curious and expectant. "What of him?"

Albus squatted down to look at the elf on more even footing. "That's right; you were around when he was still alive, weren't you? What was he like?"

"A true Black!" said the elf with fierce pride, straightening as much as his elderly spine would permit. "Noble and honourable and always looking after Kreacher, not like that blood-trai- ahh, Master Sirius. Master Regulus was a fine wizard."

"Kreacher," Jezabel began in gentle tones, crouching next to Albus. "Are you... was the family you served in Slytherin? All of them?"

His thin chest puffed out indignantly. "Of course! All but Master Sirius; he was in Gryffindor, and rightly so, not much of a Black in my Mistress's opinion. But he was at least a skilled wizard - the pure blood in his veins was not entirely lost on him, no." Then his eyes squinted up at Jezabel for a long moment; eventually, she gulped noisily, which seemed to snap him out of it. "Hmm, you're nearly pureblood, you are. Kreacher knows. A fine choice, Master Albus."

"No," she whispered meekly as Albus groaned inwardly at Kreacher's last comment, thankful that Jezabel had apparently missed the insinuation. "N-no, I'm a Mudblood. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not at all pure."

"Kreacher doesn't believe you," he croaked dismissively, as if she were trying to play an absurd joke on him but he was too swift for her. "You're very like young Master, here. It's in the eyes, in the jawline and cheekbones. Yes, yes, you have the nobility."

"Can you tell I'm not pureblood just by looking?" Albus asked, interested in this sudden proclamation from the elf he'd been living with for sixteen years. "That Dad's mother was Muggle-born?"

Kreacher hesitated. "A recent dilution, but mostly pure, yes. Of course, Kreacher knew that already, he knew, but Kreacher can still tell, plain as the nose on young Master's face."

"But how can that be?" said Jezabel, almost to herself. "Both my parents are Muggles, I- I can't have any sort of magical blood, that's impossible."

"Kreacher knows what he sees," he repeated adamantly as he shuffled away.

Albus gave her a few moments to stare blankly at his wardrobe before offering up a tentative question. "Are... are you okay?"

"But Al, it doesn't make any sense!" she squeaked as she sprang to her feet, sending Albus reeling backward into a bedpost. "Me, a pureblood? I-I'm not even half-blood, yet he made it sound like I had more than that in my veins! Is... is he mad, or does he usually only say things like this if he's absolutely sure, or- or-"

"Shh," he soothed, rubbing a budding bruise at the small of his back. "Kreacher may be, er, getting a bit senile, but... I don't think he's lying on purpose, especially not to be hurtful or anything. He might be on to something."

Stocking feet that were now very grimy from walking through their house began to pace across his floor. "If that's true, then my parents have a lot of explaining to do. Is my mother a witch? Is it my father? Or are they both Squibs? Oh, I can't believe they kept this from me!"

"Yeah, and there's something else important that I just heard."

"What? What is it?"

He grinned at the way she glared over at him, eyes popping at the possibility of any more earth-shattering news. Chuckling, he said, "I don't think you've ever called me 'Al' before."

Her pale cheeks pinkened as she stifled a nervous giggle.

_END Chapter Thirty-Four_


	35. The Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here at Jessica X Productions, we strive to maintain a steady output of high-quality fiction. Several factors are considered when creating our next product: performance, durability, and a minty-fresh aftertaste are of the utmost importance. How's our driving? Please review!

The reason Albus's mother gave for suggesting Jezabel stay in Lily's room was that it was too late to send her home, but he considered eight-thirty early enough for a quick Side-Along to the Skirrow house. No, it was far more likely that she was plotting an insidious scheme that could only come to fruition on Sunday morning, and it would be much easier to put this into effect if she spent the night at Grimmauld Place. He was, of course, entirely correct.

"Oh, drat," she proclaimed across the kitchens as they picked at their eggs and toast. "We're out of wolfsbane again." Her eyes were focused mostly on Jezabel as she said, "I don't suppose you two would care to run some errands with old Mrs Potter?"

"No, we wouldn't," came Albus's prompt reply. If she was going to play games, he was going to make his mother work for her victory.

"Oh, come now," she scoffed, waving a hand. "We can stop in and see Uncle George, he'd like that. I, er... might even let you have a few Sickles to spend in there, if you help me out a bit."

It was a beautiful carrot to dangle inches in front of Albus's face - extra pocket money for very little reason? But he still suspected this had nothing to do with her wanting company and everything to do with their houseguest. "Do you really want to make Jezabel do menial labour? I thought we could play a game of chess after breakfast before she has to-"

"No no, it's okay," said Jezabel in her most polite manner, thoroughly undermining him without knowing. "I would love to help, really, it's the least I could do after tea last night, and breakfast, and the-"

"Splendid, splendid!" Ginny beamed, shooting Albus a "You are incorrigible and unhelpful" look. "Wash up and we'll head out to Diagon Alley for the morning, and then I think we've been invited for lunch over at Ron and Hermione's. Oh, they'll be surprised to see you, Albus, I'm not sure they know you came home for Easter."

"I'd lay odds they do," said Albus's father as he joined them, scratching at his stubble in a dazed manner. "Ron was there when Pickering started insulting my parenting methods in the middle of the lift yesterday."

His wife shook her head before giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "What an old grump. I almost regret wasting some of that strudel on him, he acted as if he didn't enjoy it at all."

o o o

Never let it be said that Albus Potter didn't know his family. The two students had scarcely enough time to peer up and down the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley before they were being herded into Madam Malkin's, where his mother began throwing clothes of all shape and colour at Jezabel and refused to hear any of her mingled protests and bubbling gratitude.

"Sorry she's so overbearing," Albus muttered low enough that Ginny wouldn't hear; this was unlikely, because at that moment she was deep in an argument with Madam Malkin over hem length. "Probably best to let this run its course."

"This is terrible," she half-sobbed. "Your mother doesn't have to buy me so much, I- I'll never b-be able to repay-"

"Don't be thick, you don't have to repay her - and I think if you tried, she'd probably hex you. Mum's just that sort."

"But I- I have enough robes, this is far too much!"

He shrugged, staring up at the mannequin posing artistically in the shop window. "Use the spares as curtains?"

The time spent in Uncle George's storefront, and indeed the rest of Diagon Alley, was negligible compared with their clothes shopping. New school robes, dress robes, skirts, trousers, a jumper or two and even a secondhand travelling cloak ("She'll catch her death if she keeps running around barefoot and open to the elements!") grew in their arms to stacks that threatened to overtake them. Albus found himself without an explanation for Jezabel when she began steering them toward the Leaky Cauldron, telling them they'd be heading through onto the non-magical side of London.

"At least I was able to get Rose some new Extendable Ears; hers have been useless for ages."

"That man was your uncle, wasn't he?"

He blinked over at her as the stone archway melted into a solid wall behind them. Her face betrayed some inner conflict. "Er... yeah, why?"

"If you don't mind my asking, why hasn't- er, where- I apologise, that's awfully prying of me, never mind, I shouldn't have br-"

"He lost it in the war," Albus guessed. Her mouth made a tiny movement as if forming the word "oh", though she made no sound. "Helping my dad escape Voldemort, actually. It's quite the tale of daring do, but perhaps I'd better let him tell it; he's the only one who can do it justice."

"And that will have to wait for another day," his mother put in, and Albus inwardly wished she would disappear and stop listening in. "Once we're through in Muggle London, we won't have time for any more shopping before lunch, I'm sure."

"Oh, I saw you arrive here," Jezabel whispered, smiling to herself. "That seems like so long ago, doesn't it?"

"You saw- what? When?"

Her eyes darted toward the stairs as they passed the inn's counter. "You... didn't notice me. That is, I didn't exactly stick around to chat, obviously you wouldn't have noticed. I th-thought maybe you had, I'm s-sorry."

"Was this over the Summer?" That was the most recent instance they both could have been there at the same time.

"Yes. You and your family were shopping for school."

The gear clicked; a dark figure zooming away to the first floor. It was a severely unsettling feeling for him, as if a person were rewriting the history of his life. "That was you? Blimey, I didn't even realise - all I saw was a load of hair flying upstairs, you were moving so fast! Why didn't you say something?"

She looked back at him. "Well, I d-didn't know you then. Or I did, but you didn't know me. Being bothered by a total stranger doesn't normally endear you to them, does it?"

"But you wanted to say something?"

Perhaps he misspoke, as it appeared Jezabel would rather not answer. Still, several seconds later she whispered, "You're such a good, decent sort, and your family looked so nurturing and close-knit, and... I don't know, I was a t-tad jealous. I'm sorry, does that make me a truly deplorable person?"

And Albus was at a loss once again. This revelation that he could have met her nearly a month before he had was quite enough to digest without adding her unnecessary guilt into the equation. How many other times had they passed each other in school, or out in the world? Why hadn't he become aware of her before the train?

The truth was, no matter how he rationalised that she was in a different year and mostly kept to herself, he would never so much as give the time of day to a Slytherin if he could tell they were - probably still wouldn't. That mindset had almost robbed him of what was blossoming into a sound, indispensable companionship. What if this ancient rivalry between Houses was self-perpetuating? The Gryffindors loathed the Slytherins because the Slytherins loathed the Gryffindors, and vice-versa. His Dad had always told he and his siblings that deep down, every witch and wizard has got a heart, but when you're brought up by the upperclassmen to target another group with extreme prejudice, how can the cycle ever be broken?

"Here we are," came the senses-jarring words of his mother. "Francine's Fine Footwear. Can't believe the price of shoes in Diagon Alley, they must be mad."

"Ah." Jezabel stared down at the boots they had lent her for the day. "Yes, er- please, Mrs Potter, you don't have to go to so much trouble; I'm fine, really."

"You can't walk around without any shoes!" she laughed. "I'd let you keep those, but I daresay they're a bit big for you. Besides, it's far better to get you into some new ones, isn't it?"

If Albus could see through her usual thicket of hair, he was sure she would be blushing. "My parents can do that Monday afternoon, Mother's already said she would, so there's no need-"

"Oh, bugger that - you need them _now,_ not tomorrow! Merlin's beard, you could catch pneumonia, and I'm not playing Bulgarian roulette with your health!"

o o o

Despite keeping up an admirable flow of flustered pleas to leave off spending gold on her, the three shoppers left the boutique with four more boxes added to the already-teetering pile in Albus's arms. Jezabel now owned powder-blue trainers, magnificent buckled boots that stretched from heel to knee, and a simple, gleaming pair of Mary Janes, which she was wearing presently. Albus's mother had also somehow convinced him to get a pair of Oxfords for himself, no matter how many times he insisted his old ones were still in fine condition.

After a quick return to Grimmauld Place to deposit their shopping (and for his mother to force Jezabel into taking another bath, which was such a long, noisy affair that Albus was thankful his gender kept him several rooms apart from it), Harry joined the others as they all turned through the darkness and Apparated into the Ronald Weasley family home.

"Wow," breathed Jezabel when Ginny had released her arm, now-visible wide eyes drinking in the towering bookcases that lined the high walls of the cavernous room. Being so used to visiting The Library himself, Albus had hardly given them a thought before he heard her reaction. He snorted.

"Yeah, I know; Aunt Hermione's a real bookworm. She's always got her nose hidden away in one - when she's not writing her own, that is."

"Sakes alive, th-there must be hundreds of them! Thousands!"

"Seven thousand, two hundred and eighty-five, to be precise," came an airy voice from behind them. Jezabel spun around to find Hermione staring over her head at the topmost shelves. "That's also counting the bookcases in my study, though."

"How've you been keeping, 'Mione?" asked Ginny as they exchanged a warm embrace.

"Well enough, well enough. Channing's being a pill about the centaur reservations, it's got everyone in the department calling for his head on a pike - but then that's business, and we have a guest!" When Jezabel continued to stare toward the floor shyly, Hermione turned to Albus and asked, "Well? Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh, right," he laughed, thinking privately that he'd heard that particular phrase a lot lately. "Aunt Hermione, Jezabel Skirrow; Jezabel, Hermione Weasley. Sorry, guess I left my manners back at Hogwarts."

"I reckon you never had them to begin with," his mother put in, swatting him on the arm.

Hermione snorted as she shook Jezabel's thin hand in her own. "It is nice to finally meet you after all Rose has told us! You're something of a scholar, yes?"

"Your collection," she replied breathlessly, having missed Albus's aunt's words entirely due to the prospect of such unlimited reading. This seemed to be high among a short list of things that cut straight through Jezabel's timidity around strangers. "It- such voluminous volumes, bountiful bindings! You must tell me: how are they categorised?"

All at once, Albus realised it had been a dire mistake to get the pair of them in the same room. Shrugging, he left them to it and turned to his father. "Funny, aren't th-"

"About your prefect gifts... been up to any mischief? Any interesting results?"

The wistful passion burned in Harry's eyes like a wizarding fire full of Floo powder. "Er... yeah, they've helped me out a couple times."

"Just a couple of times, eh? I shouldn't be getting any Howlers from your teachers, then; suppose I should count my blessings."

"Of course, if I didn't have the Cloak, I might never have saved Jezabel from those Slytherins..."

His father looked back down at him sharply. "How do you mean?"

"Well, er... I was on my way downstairs for a pick-me-up from the kitchens when I heard her screaming." An involuntary shiver passed through his bones. "Don't think I'll ever forget that; it was ghastly. And that's nothing compared with how she looked when I found her."

"Hmm, indeed; Flagratattooing's not at all pleasant." They watched Aunt Hermione pointing to the spines of several dust-coated tomes a few yards away before Harry spoke again. "Do you know if they performed the Cruciatus on her?"

"The Cruciatus? Er... how did that one go again? We just studied it, but I don't..."

For whatever reason, this caused him to break into a genuine grin. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear something like that, Al."

"Why?"

He laughed and tousled his son's hair. "It marks progress."

Albus had grown accustomed to his father being obtuse like that now and again. Before he could demand to know what he was talking about, however, the three women rejoined them, still chattering away about the Library's library.

"...love it here, it's like- like Xanadu!"

"I'm glad you approve," Hermione laughed. "And I am glad you could drop in, I've been curious to meet such an oft-discussed witch! Also, this gives me the chance to ask a small favour of you."

"It does?" The accompanying gulp sounded almost painful.

"Perhaps you can help light the proverbial fire under Rose's backside," she said in an undertone as she led them through an arched doorway and down the adjacent corridor. "Well, her marks are still quite satisfactory, mind you, don't misunderstand me... but last year they were ever-so-slightly under par, and I can't help but feel if she would only apply herself properly we may find-"

"Oh, leave the girl be," chuckled Harry. "One 'A' and you start foaming at the mouth."

"I only want the best for my daughter," she replied briskly.

Albus's mother shook her head as they entered the dining room, which was large enough to seat a dozen bodies comfortably, fifteen or sixteen otherwise. An ornate candelabra was lit by magically-powered fairy lights, and several portraits of witches and wizards reading various tomes added interest to the drab-but-welcoming wallpaper. Just before Albus could remark that the food smelled wonderful, a gasp came from somewhere on their right.

"Merlin Ambrosius, she's skinny as a rail!"

With an inward cringe, Albus watched his grandmother throw her arms around Jezabel's helpless shoulders and begin squeezing them to pieces. This seemed like the last thing one should do to a person whom you might believe in danger of starvation, but Albus wasn't sure how to go about correcting someone three times his own age, so he held his tongue. As it turned out, he needn't have worried.

"Molly, ease up," her husband chided from the other side of the room, wand in mid-movement over the table. Albus suspected he had been using magic to lay out the silverware moments prior to their arrival. "Etiquette dictates we not suffocate dinner guests before the first course, at least."

"But we have to get some real nourishment down her before she wastes away to nothing! Come now, perhaps you should start with dessert and work backward, eh?"

"Mum!" Ginny laughed, throwing her own arms around both of them. Albus tried to ignore the discomfort only he could see in his classmate's eyes as she came to be sandwiched between Weasley women. "Hermione didn't mention you and Dad would be-"

"They showed up," Uncle Ron explained as he strode up to them, dusting off an aged bottle of elderflower wine. "Not twenty minutes ago, in point of fact. Might have sent an owl along or something before popping in, though."

"Don't fuss over nothing," Hermione hissed at him.

"Hang on," said Ron slowly, eyes screwing up as he bent down to look more directly at Jezabel (he was quite a bit taller than she). "This'll be the Skirrow girl, won't it? Sorry, I completely forgot she'd be along. Well, we've given those Slytherins something to think about, now, haven't we?"

"I- I'm sorry, sir, how do you mean?" Albus wondered why she was being so formal before he remembered it was Jezabel.

A smug look inched into his face. "Got Travers' little toerag expelled, didn't you? Well, he got himself expelled, I suppose - but the point is they'll have to think twice before they try something like that on poor, unsuspecting first-years! You've struck a blow for the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws of this world, they ought to be giving you a Special Services Award! Speaking of which, has anyone told you about the time Harry and I earned..."

Both Harry and Hermione groaned. Uncle Ron pretended not to notice.

o o o

It was with a guilty conscience that Albus was glad not to be Jezabel during that particular luncheon. The well-meaning adults fired a relentless barrage of questions at her, curious about the House-switching witch whom had so suddenly become a point of contention for so many at Hogwarts, or else water cooler conversation down at the Ministry offices. He also came to admire her for resisting the urge to pound her fists on the table and scream that they ought to leave the interrogation for afters.

Breathing a surreptitious sigh of relief, he followed when she excused herself from the table once the parents and grandparents had produced a bottle of Ogden's, hoping to catch her up. This proved to be easier than he'd thought, as she was squatting just outside the door.

"Jez!" he squeaked, doing an ungainly sort of jig to avoid trodding on her leg.

"Shh!" After a tense moment, she stood and motioned for him to follow her down the cramped hall. "Is there a... a place where we might not be overheard?"

Albus led her to a small room whose original function had been lost to time; it was now used to store Hermione's old manuscripts and the family brooms, including the splinters of an old Cleansweep Eleven his uncle had refused to part with. "There - I don't think they'll be coming straight here after drinks."

"I am sorry, Albus, I am, but I c-couldn't take any more questions, there were so, so many!"

He leaned back against the door jamb. "Don't be. A concussed gnome could have seen you'd had enough, I can't believe how thick they were being! Couldn't they tell they were taking it all a little too far?"

"They were being friendly," she said, examining a broken Snitch. "Perhaps overly so, but it's okay. At least they were genuinely interested, and not just trying to unearth fodder for the rumour mill."

"And I apologise for Mum earlier." Albus's teeth were having a time unclenching. "Honestly, if I had a Sickle to my name I'd have taken you to Francine's myself, but she kept us prisoner in that smelly shop for well over an hour!"

"Yes, but... they're so pretty."

He followed her gaze down to the Mary Janes, shining black in the light from the tiny window set high on the wall. "Yeah. Well, I mean, they all looked good, the ones she ended up buying you - but I can't believe she tried stuffing you into those red heels with the frilly bit on top! Even Elizabeth Larkins would have trouble stomaching those monstrosities!"

"They were rather garish," she snickered, pushing herself up and onto the tabletop to allow her legs to swing over the side. "Exactly the sort of shoes Adora would buy for herself. Those blue trainers would appeal to her, as well - if they came in yellow with pink laces."

"You don't like them?"

"Of course I do!" she insisted vehemently. "They're perfect, b-but... they're far more stylish than anything I'm used to, that's all."

He smiled. "Well, you can't wear them in school, anyway, so you've only got another week to worry about them."

"Really, Albus, when the devil am I going to need dress robes?" she burst out unexpectedly, causing him to knock over Hugo's old toy broomstick when he started. "Your mother, sh-she spent so much this morning, and it wasn't at all necessary, and- and- and I'm not a charity case, she doesn't have to lavish all that on me!"

"Hey, no arguments, here," he chuckled. "But it's not like you don't deserve to have a few nice things. As I said before, when Mum feels strongly about something it's wisest to stand aside and give her free reign - greater wizards than myself have been levelled for daring to oppose her."

"But I'm fine!" Before she continued, she started massaging her temples with her fingertips, apparently trying to prevent another explosion. "We do have money, you know - not much, I'll grant you, and I scarcely see a penny of it for recreational use, but I've never wanted for food or clothes or anything! Your family doting on me like this, it- I feel like I'm stealing from those less fortunate than us, like I should turn around and give your gifts to children who _really_ need them!"

Albus had to take a second to blink. "Don't take all that on - everybody deserves a few good pairs of shoes! Okay, so perhaps my dear mother went off the deep end today, and I obviously won't think poorly of you if you donate some of those robes to the homeless, but... well, I just don't think you should be so hard on yourself!"

"B-but-"

"The dress robes suit you," he said firmly, folding his arms over his chest. "It'd be a right shame to let those go, charity or no charity. Now come on, let's get back so they can ask you how many times you use the lavatory in any given day."

"Y-you liked my dress robes?"

It was an innocent enough question, but when Albus looked over to answer it he was momentarily thrown by the surge of rouge in her pale cheeks. "Er, y-yeah, they're smart. Reckon if we're ever invited to anything formal, you'll be all set."

With a slight nod, she smiled as she preceded him out of the room. "Thank you."

_END Chapter Thirty-Five_


	36. An Ounce Of Perspective

"Bloody hell, I can't believe you pulled it off!" whooped a beside-herself Rose as Albus stepped from the mantle in Professor Longbottom's office. "Only my cousin could succeed where the Ministry's finest fell flat on their-"

"That was an awfully risky stunt, young man," Longbottom grunted at him, lips pursed. "Bet your parents really laid into you, didn't they?"

This aspect of his escape from Hogwarts had completely deserted Albus's mind until that moment; he'd duped his professor, which was not an action that usually went unpunished. "Er, yeah, they totally flipped out. Sir-"

"Then I'll belay my own irate speech about right and wrong." The man sighed as he clapped him on the shoulder. "Technically, none of your hijinks took place within the Hogwarts grounds, so I couldn't actually hand out any punishments, anyway. That responsibility lies with the mother and father, whom I trust have dealt with you accordingly already."

"Yes, sir." Albus surmised that it was best to keep his answers brief for the moment.

"There is also the small matter of your acting as our emmissary," he continued with a slight smile. "If you hadn't worried everyone sick and nearly sent poor Mrs Potter to St Mungo's, I might award you House points for returning one of our number to her place in Gryffindor. Unfortunately, all I can offer you is my thanks - oh, and..."

Without warning, the pockets of Albus's cloak were suddenly inflating as if carnival balloons. When he stuck his hands in they brushed against what felt suspiciously like sweet wrappers, but the Professor held up a hand to silence him before his mind had finished forming the question. "Off you go, then."

"To be frank, Al, I thought you were cracked," Rose chortled once they had reached the hallway. "Racing off to parts unknown to convince a dropout to drop back in? Madness!"

He cocked his head to one side. "I thought you wanted to go with me?"

"Well, yeah, but - anyway, I'm really glad you managed it! Jezzy belongs in school, and now we've got our third wheel back!"

"Speaking of which," he butted in before she could continue gushing, "where is our reluctant sixth-year?"

"Up in her room." Albus set off for the common room, and Rose soon fell into an easy pace beside him. "Said 'hi' to me and all, of course, but I think she wanted to make sure her personal items hadn't been incinerated in her absence."

"Hmm."

"That's the thing, though-" Her voice dropped as she threw an arm around his shoulders, and a most powerful feeling of having never left the school at all came over him. "I heard Jocasta telling Brunhilda that most of her stuff was already gone ages ago - since those human nifflers went through it in the common room. That's a craptastic trial to go through, sure, but I can't believe anybody would chuck everything they own just because somebody's seen it, can you?"

"Maybe she didn't," he mused. "Jezabel's a year ahead of us, and more or less a genius - maybe she's enchanted her things so nobody can see them but her. A Vanishing spell, right?"

Rose considered this briefly before answering. "Plausable. You know, I might try it myself if I knew how to make the Vanished objects come back."

"One more step in our magical education we've yet to take."

"Oh!" she gasped, causing Albus to jump straight into a preoccupied Ravenclaw student walking in the opposite direction. Rose began rummaging through her schoolbag as he disentangled himself from the fuming boy. "That reminds me, there's another stressful item on the agenda, now - here."

As he was brushing dirt from his knees, a handful of leaflets were thrust into his face. They were all sorts of colours, and each had something written across the front, most also bearing a picture or design. He squinted at a few of the titles.

"'Lose Yourself In The World Of Labyrinth Exploration'? 'So You Think You'd Like To Work In Muggle Relations?' What's all this rubbish?"

"Longbottom's going to be giving us career advice," she sneered at him with a roll of her eyes. "A loathsome proposition if ever I heard one. Your appointment's on Tuesday, if you want to know."

"You can't be serious." His eyebrows went up when she only stared at him. "What? B-but, wait, why? Since when?"

"The notice was tacked up on the bulletin board two days ago," she informed him apologetically. "You were supposed to have all weekend to look over the pamphlets and hopefully reach a decision or two, but..."

"But I've been missing from the castle lately," he finished for her. "Well, at least I've got tonight and tomorrow night to choose my path in life. Now I feel like I wasted the Easter holidays."

"Yeah... what exactly _did_ you do all week?"

"Homework," he grunted. "Remember Dryden's eternal essay from Niflheim?"

His cousin made a sour face at the thought. "Only too well. Broke four quills getting through it."

"And when I wasn't doing that, Mum was running me ragged doing all the chores around the house, including a few left over from Spring cleaning; my punishment for sneaking off to the Skirrows'."

"Your- wait, what?" Rose was aghast. "But that's not fair! You had good reason to sneak off, the system was giving up hope on Jezabel without a proper fight!"

He shrugged, glancing out the window at the Forbidden Forest as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I know that, and so do they, but both Potter parents said I should've discussed it with them before Flooing off half-cocked."

"Hmm... yeah, I guess that makes a wonky kind of sense. Still say they were too harsh."

"Yeah." The grin sprang up of its own accord. "Good to be back, Rosie."

To his amusement, she flashed him a watery smile that probably resembled his own. "God, it's been dismal here without my best mate - Hagrid's sick of me by now, and I've had to resort to studying with Caspian in your absence."

"Lewis?" She nodded as he blinked, trying to imagine the two of them sharing notes voluntarily. "That's the last thing I expected."

"Exactly! It's like being shunted through Alice's rabbit hole! But, I mean, he's a knowledgeable enough bloke, and he did try and stop the Slytherins hexing our pants off."

Albus cupped a hand to his ear. "What's that sound off in the distance?"

"Eh?"

"Hmm... mightn't it be wedding bells?"

An exasperated growl began in the back of Rose's throat. "Wizards in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Mr Runs-Off-To-Rescue-A-Certain-Nouveau-Gryffindor-Twice-Per-Week!"

o o o

The prospect of choosing a permanent trade with little to no time for serious consideration was daunting, to say the least. Albus spent the entire last day of the holidays scanning through the stack of promotional pamphlets touting everything from curse-breaking to secretarial work at the Ministry (which apparently required only satisfactory O.W.L.s across the board and no N.E.W.T.s at all, though he suspected a student with a handful of N.E.W.T.s would stand a better chance). His eyes grew itchy and red, but he was no nearer discovering his true passion than before.

Professor Longbottom did nothing to help narrow the field, either. While he was kind and patient throughout their meeting that Tuesday afternoon, his advice consisted largely of "Do your best in all subjects so you'll be ready for whatever your trade may be." This only served to increase Albus's dread of O.W.L.s.

"What if I fail everything?" he hissed at Rose and Jezabel over dinner that evening. "Or if I fail Defence, and then decide I fancy Magical Law Enforcement? Cor, this is all so- so-"

"Calm down," Rose soothed as she raised her butty to her lips. "Get through these stupid tests before you worry about the rest of your life."

"Thank you, Professor Longbottom," he shot at her.

"Er..."

Both cousins glanced over at Jezabel expectantly. "What?" Rose prompted after nearly ten seconds of watching her twist a strand of hair around her finger.

"I- w-well, perhaps I could help you with O.W.L.s, if you'd like an extra study partner."

"We couldn't dump that on you," said Albus, internally scratching out a memo asking Aunt Hermione to leave off needling anxious houseguests about her daughter's studies. "It's too much. Don't worry, I'm sure we'll do fine."

"No, honestly, it would be no trouble at all! The topics are all fresh from last year for me, and- oh, I really want to help! Besides, I've already finished the rest of this year's curriculum, so it's not as if my own studies would suffer that m-"

"You already _what?"_

Rose was gaping at her shamelessly, elbow buried in her mashed potatoes. "No. All of it? B-but- but, but, but that's two full _months_ of reading! It's impossible, nobody's _that_ good!"

Jezabel came over bashful, eyes dropping into her goblet of pumpkin juice. "I know, I know... I'm a nerd."

"Nerd?" Albus glanced over at Rose to see if she recognised the term, but she was still goggling at the prospect of being an entire term ahead of the syllabus. "What's that?"

She seemed to be surprised to find him ignorant of this. "Oh, well, it's... hmm. It's someone who learns everything too quickly or too soon, or spends a great deal of time on the computer. You know, a geek?"

"Sorry," said Albus with a chuckle. "And what in Merlin's name is a ka-puter?"

"No, wait, I've heard of those." Evidently, Rose's shock had worn off. "It's an eckeltronic sort of Muggle encyclopaedia. Mum says she'd like to get one for the family, but that Dad would only use it to look at dirty pictures."

Jezabel giggled, possibly remembering the way Uncle Ron had bragged noisily over their luncheon. "Doesn't speak very well of your father."

"She rarely does. Anyway, I can't see how being a gerd _or_ a neek is a bad thing, so... why are you acting like a Death Eater in a confessional?"

"It's not as if I am by choice," she continued, her voice noticeably more relaxed. "A nerd, that is, not a Death Eater. But with no one to talk to for the past several years, schoolwork had to double as a leisure activity, and it all sort of came so naturally after a while that I got used to-"

"You're missing Rose's point!" Albus interrupted. "We wouldn't resent you for being an academic sort or not; if that's your forte, I say have at it! I, for one, would be greatful for some help, I'm doing miserable in Astronomy."

Thus the three of them took to studying together as often as their schedules allowed, for their workload doubled upon the passing of Passover. Jezabel completed her assignments so quickly and effortlessly that she spent more time on her friends' than her own.

"It's like having a free private tutor," Rose remarked to Albus one night when Jezabel had excused herself for a quick trip to the bathroom. "Except I can stand her. Most tutors lord it over you, or else can't teach worth a lick, but she's got this instinct; it's like she knows exactly how to explain all this garbage so normal witches and wizards can understand it."

His eyes narrowed over the top of his Charms book. "Since when do you know so much about how private tutors operate?"

"Er... what do you mean? They're all like that, common knowledge." But her ears gave her away.

"You've had one before, haven't you?"

"That's a lie!" she squeaked, eyes wild as she gripped the edge of the table. "It never happened! And if it had, it would only have been for a year when I was eight, so there's no need to blow it out of proportion!"

"Ah, yes, your extra-rambunctious phase." He leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner. "I seem to recall you dared me to do a lot of dangerous things when we were eight. Isn't that when we got Doxy poisoning?"

Rose refused to discuss the topic further.

The first Quidditch match of Spring term, Hufflepuff versus Slytherin, was a nail-biter of the worst kind. Neither team truly held onto the lead for long, and the Seekers spent so much time trying to stop each other from catching the Snitch that Albus wondered if the game would last long past sunset. Mercifully, Yaxley managed to come up with it in the fifth hour and ended the game with a score of two hundred and forty to one hundred and ten - though he did this by sinking his fist into Monica Grey's stomach, which earned him a month's detentions from a furious Madam Chang.

This, of course, acted as another reason for Olivia Wood to ride her team harder than ever at practises. Not that it really took the fun out of flying, of course - being on the same team as an ex-girlfriend (or never-was-girlfriend) whom would as soon eat her own Nimbus as talk to him got the job done well enough. Albus was on his way up to the common room after another such heartening practise when a large, firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"A brief word, Mr Potter?"

Albus remained confused in a terrified fashion as he followed Professor Dryden down into his dungeon. What could this be about? Had he done something to upset the Potions Master, perhaps an unsatisfactory grade? Or was he about to find out in the most painful way imaginable that he truly was behind the ghostly attacks?

"Sit." The student obeyed. "Very well... I have but one thing to say to you."

Albus braced himself, fingers flexing, ready to dive for his wand at a moment's notice. "And what might that be, sir?"

"Do you... hate me?"

This was it. That conversation between himself, Rose and Dorika Dunsmore was about to be repeated, and he would have the satisfaction of being proven right for a brief, shining moment before he found himself sleeping with the merpeople. "Why would I?"

His teacher's cold, fierce eyes attempted to take on a wounded look. "Have I been so harsh on you that you feel the need to punish me? Am I... such an abomination?"

An eyebrow arched slightly. "Wh-what are-"

"Your consultation!" he cried. "You met with your Head of House two weeks ago, did you not? Longbottom tells me you're unsure of your calling - have you forgotten our discussion from December?"

It all came back to him in a flash. "Oh! Oh, I-"

"Did you even glance at the pamphlet I gave you?"

"Of course." It wasn't technically a lie; he couldn't remember whether or not he opened it and perused its contents, but he could at least envision the front cover. "And - well, it sounds good, but there's so many careers, and it seems awfully early to-"

"You _must_ act early!" he thundered. "Thorough preparation now will save you time and effort in your future! Have you been studying for your Potions O.W.L.?"

"I have," said Albus defiantly, sitting up a bit taller. "Night and day, and it's making my fingers and eyes bleed, thanks!"

"And what potion would one use for bleeding fingers?" When Albus only blinked dazedly at this unexpected quiz, he snapped, "Quick, now! Minor wound care, a Healer would need that knowledge at hand!"

A vision of Jezabel in the hospital wing sprang to the forefront of his thoughts, and he grimaced. What would she do? "Er... murtlap essence?"

"That would take the sting out, yes, but how to heal them over?"

"Dittany," he countered, now picturing the Potions Master himself as he asked Professor Peele why a bottle had rocketed from his personal stores. "No more bleeding."

Dryden's mouth opened and closed a few times before he sat back in his chair, smiling shrewdly. "Clever, very clever. A crude but effective solution. But you'd do well to keep in mind that dittany is quite expensive and difficult to procure, so one should use it sparingly. Still... well, I stand by my earlier opinion. If you don't grow lax in your studies, you could go far in Potions."

o o o

_"AGAIN?"_

"Yup!" Albus leaned back in his squashy armchair by the fire, sniffing in a self-satisfied manner. "Seemed hurt I hadn't told Longbottom I have a burgeoning desire to apprentice behind his cauldron."

"That sells me on the 'Dryden: Ghost-Manipulator' theory - he's out of his gourd, I tell you!"

"D'you really want to revisit this?" he sighed. "I am making nearly top marks in Potions, it's not _so_ far-fetched."

"I think it's wonderful," said Jezabel from behind her Arithmancy homework, which she was now scanning for nonexistant errors. "Albus should do what makes him happy, and if it happens to be working with Potions, then there's nothing wrong with it. As for Professor Dryden, he grew less and less short with me throughout Winter term, and has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome since Easter. I don't think he blames me for switching Houses anymore."

"Guilt," Rose muttered. "His own students started tearing you apart without provocation - why shouldn't he feel-"

"Rose!" Albus hissed at her. "Do try and be a little more sensitive when talking about present company, won't you?"

"Oh? _OH!"_ She spun to face Jezabel, accidentally crumpling yet another quill. "Blimey, didn't mean to dredge all that up again, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking!"

"It's okay," she snorted, though Albus thought her voice shook ever so slightly. "I've survived worse. Or, well, as bad; the use of flagrate ranks fairly high. But what I mean is-"

"Professor!"

The three of them jumped and turned, following the voice to the foot of the boys' staircase. Puerilis Logan was staggering down the last few stairs, white as a sheet and panting. As they watched, Aqua Rankin grabbed him by the arm.

"What's your damage?" she asked. "You look like a ghost tried to kill you! Er, again."

"Wh-where's Professor Longbottom?" he rasped. "Up there... Ryan..."

"Come on, then," she soothed, guiding him toward the portrait hole as she shot Catherine Orchard a stymied look. "We'll go and get him together, yeah?"

They had scarcely stepped through when Albus sprang from his chair and bolted for the dormitories. He'd only gone a few steps when he heard Rose shout, "Oh, no you don't, not without me!"

"Fine, hurry up, then!"

When the two reached Albus's door, they saw it was wide open - Logan had neglected to close it in his haste to seek aid. A book full of notes lay open face-down near the foot of Logan's bed, parchment fanning out in all directions. Ryan was nowhere to be seen.

"Huh," Rose gusted. "What was he on about?"

"Hey - hey, they've been going through my stuff!" He picked up an empty box from his nightstand. "This was one of my birthday presents, what- hey, where is it?"

"Where's what?" It semed she was too busy flipping through the scattered pages for a clue to have paid much attention to his words.

"The monocle," he replied impatiently. "I never tried it out or anything, so I know I haven't mislaid it! You... you don't suppose they'd nick something like-"

"Hang on, Al - d'you mean this monocle?"

It was - he turned to see Rose was holding it by its fine silver chain. "Yeah, where was it?"

"On Ryan's bed," she replied with a shrug. "Guess they didn't want it that badly after all or they'd have taken it with them."

"What else were they going through?" Albus found himself growing angrier by the moment. Frowning, he stomped over to his trunk and flung it open, scanning the contents for anything that might be out of place. "Aren't a man's possessions sacred anymore? What if they'd found the map, or the cloak? I swear, next time I see Ryan I'll feed him his own-"

_"OW!"_

That sound never bade well. "What?" he gasped, whirling. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she whimpered, clutching at her face. "I c-can't - ouch, it won't let go!"

"What won't? What's going on?"

Rose dropped her hand, and Albus fought to conquer a giggle. His cousin looked somewhat foolish with the antique eyewear hanging from her left eye, especially against her lank orange locks and dingy Hogwarts robes. "Is this some kind of stupid prank of yours, Al? A- a Permanent Sticking Charm, or- or-"

"Not me," he insisted quickly. "I barely ever looked at it."

"Wait, there's- _behind you!"_

Instinctively drawing his wand, Albus spun to face his attacker, but no one was there. "What did you see? One of the ghosts? Oh, that's all we need just now!"

"No, I- wait." She slowly began to turn, scanning the room as if memorising every detail in preparation for an O.W.L. "I... I see him everywhere. This doesn't make any sense, Al, how is it happening? Unless..."

"Rose Nymphadora Weasley, you stop burping up vague hints and tell me what you're babbling about or-"

"Ryan!" Her lens-free eye twitched slightly. "I... I think he's trapped inside the monocle!"

_END Chapter Thirty-Six_


	37. A Grave Request

Albus and Hugo paced up and down the hospital wing corridor for two hours, waiting for a prognosis from Madam Pomfrey and the rest of the staff. Indeed, nearly half of the teachers were crowded inside to ponder at this unusual bit of magic, hoping to at least figure out how it worked if not invent a way to reverse the effect. At last, Headmistress Sprout came out to speak with them.

"The good news is young Miss Weasley is fine," she began, mopping her brow with a dirt-stained handkerchief. "The bad news... the monocle won't come off for anything, and we have tried a fair number of countercurses. I'm afraid it's even more stubborn than we realised."

"How can you call that 'fine'?" Hugo burst out, lip trembling. "That's my sister in there, with glass and silver bonded to her face!"

"I am sorry," she replied, frowning down at him. "We're going to get the Ministry cracking on it, researching and formulating Charms and such - might as well, since they can't seem to make any headway with our ghost dilemma. Meanwhile, it isn't causing her any real harm; in fact, it only hurts when we try and remove it, so we think it best to leave it alone for the time being."

"And..." Albus was having a hard time posing this question, as the very idea tied his stomach in knots. "And what about, er..."

Professor Sprout nodded in an understanding way, stowing her hanky. "The only proof we have that Mr Macmillan is within that lens is Mr Logan's and your cousin's word. Beyond that, it's impossible to tell from the outside. Not that we don't believe her," she added quickly.

"So that's it, then?" sobbed Hugo. "Macmillan's just gone, and my sister will be haunted by his image for the rest of her years? A fine bunch of-"

"Careful, Hugo," Albus hissed warningly in his ear. "They're doing all they can, you know."

"Yeah, Huey," echoed James as he, Lily and Jezabel joined them. "What good will swearing at the Headmistress do your sis?"

"Shut up, you prat," Lily spat before laying a gentle hand on Hugo's shoulder. "Any word?"

"Every one means 'no'," he grumbled.

Then the door opened again, and the ocularly-modified Rose joined them. More than anything else, she appeared exhausted, and thoroughly disgruntled besides. She glanced at Sprout, then looked around at her worried family members and friends.

"Do I look more distinguished, at least?"

Albus should have known James would be the one to start laughing first. Soon, Albus and Lily had joined in, and even the Headmistress was forced to hide a chuckle by coughing into her fist. Only Hugo refused to crack a smile.

"That's brilliant!" he growled. "Have a grand old time while my sister might be stuck this way forever - while Ryan Macmillan might never come back! How stupid you all are!"

Rose sighed. "Hugo-"

But he was already running off around the corner, wiping furiously at his eyes. After a moment, she folded her arms, staring down at the floor. "Damn. I was only trying to break the tension..."

o o o

In the days following, the whispers and stares surrounded Rose wherever she went. At first, she pretended to find the increased attentions flattering, waving and flipping her hair gracefully at the onlooking crowds. This admirable attitude deteriorated rapidly, however, and by Thursday morning the whole thing really began to wear on her nerves.

"Five points from Hufflepuff!" she flung at a stunned second-year. "Maybe that'll teach you some manners!"

"Was that necessary?" Albus asked from the corner of his mouth so as not to undermine her authority in front of the recently-punished student.

"I've got enough on my plate with O.W.L.s and an idiot waving frantically in one eye without everybody gawping at me like I'm on display on the zoo!"

Albus found himself surprised at this sudden bit of news. "Waving at you? Really?"

"He's been trying to get my attention ever since he noticed me," she replied wearily. "Yelling and dancing about, plain as day."

"What's he saying?"

Her brow wrinkled. "Well, I don't know, do I? The bloody thing's stuck on my eye, not my ear. If only I could read lips..."

"I still can't get over how Professor Abbott was taking it." He dropped his voice as they walked into the Defence classroom. "We all think it's awful, obviously, but she broke down crying in Transfiguration yesterday!"

"Oh... right, that." Rose frowned uneasily, sliding into her seat. "Al-"

"Good morning, class," Professor Peele called as she entered.

"Good morning, Professor Peele," they chorused.

As she began taking roll, Albus leaned over and whispered, "What were you going to say?"

"Ah, nevermind, I'll tell you later - wouldn't want to get us in trouble for talking in class. I do stand out rather a lot these days, you know."

o o o

When Professor Sinistra handed back the previous evening's star chart, Albus was pleased to see only a few red circles flashing up at him. Jezabel's tutelage was beginning to pay off, and he told her this as they headed down for lunch.

"Think nothing of it," she replied, wafting away his gratitude with her hand. "You would do the same for me if our ages were reversed."

Albus laughed. "Not much use in doing that; we'd both still be sixteen, silly."

"No, we wouldn't. You would then be sevent-"

She fell silent when he turned to stare at her openly, stopping in the middle of the floor. "What? You mean... I thought you weren't of age!"

"Er..."

"That bloke from the Ministry, Pickles or whatever - he said you weren't of age yet, so you should-"

"I wasn't!" she protested. "Not at the time, that is."

"You've had a birthday? When?"

"Ten days ago."

He'd seen that look of guilt before; usually it was on Lily's face when she'd broken one of his toys. Albus leaned back against the wall, trying to stave off the whimper of a wounded puppy that was rising up within him. "But... but why didn't you tell me? I'd have liked to get you something, or at least-"

"That's exactly why," she whispered, hiking up her robes and pointing at the buckled boots she was wearing. "You and your family spent so much on me over Easter, I- I didn't want to give you further reason to do it again so soon."

"Would you stop that? I'm telling you, Mum was just trying to help!" He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "At any rate, that was her. I didn't spend so much as a Knut on you myself, so I ought to be allowed opportunity to get my mate a present - _especially_ on her seventeenth, that's a big one!"

She smiled, as if he were being daft on purpose. "My birthdays have never been much cause for celebration. That is, not in a while. My father used to take me to the park when I was little; he'd buy me an ice cream or something, push me on the swings... he's always so busy at the office that it was a real treat. But..."

"But that changed, didn't it?" He frowned as he watched her in joining him against the wall. "What happened?"

"The magic. It- it's as I told you before, I used to be a much wilder, excitable youth, but when I started making bad things happen, I... withdrew a bit."

"That's putting it mildly." He jumped, slapping a hand over his mouth. "I- I can't believe I just said- that was a horrible-"

"It's a horrible truth is what it is," she laughed. "I told you myself I'm more comfortable alone; I can't do accidental magic on people when there aren't any nearby. It's easier."

"Yeah, I suppose."

An introspective silence settled over them. Albus didn't know what might be swirling in Jezabel's mind, but his own was reconsidering their newfound comradeship. Did he still make her uncomfortable? He knew without doubt that he always had, that she consistently tried to keep him at arm's length, but what if he still did? Would it be kinder to back off, to leave her to her own devices?

Then again, nobody deserved to be alone, and he would genuinely miss her if they parted ways - but did she feel the same? She'd named him as a friend, but did that mean to her what it meant to him? He began to think he'd never know unless he asked, which was a strange thing to demand of a person.

Their shared reverie came to an abrupt end when a sharp voice said, "It's all _your_ fault!"

"What?" he yelped before registering that they were being addressed by Atticus Malkin and Genevieve Nott, both of whom looked a bit more sickly than Albus remembered. "Oh, it's you."

"Yes, it's us," Genevieve hissed, eyes darting up and down the hallway to make sure there were no other witnesses. "The Hogwarts Pariahs, they call us now, and it's all thanks to this little tattle tale!"

The blood began to pound behind Albus's temples as he glared at her. "You've got a cauldronful of nerve to come anywhere near Jezabel after what you did to her! They should have expelled the both of you, too!"

"We didn't do anything!" Malkin whinged. "All right, so I watched, so what? Last Sunday night, Longbottom had us moving great sacks of dragon dung from Greenhouse Three up to the sixth floor, and I don't even think he had a real reason for making us do-"

"Allmighty Merlin," Albus gasped acrimoniously. "You mean you had to be all smelly? Gracious me, that _does_ trump being pummeled, snatched half-bald and set on f-"

"The _point is,_ " Genevieve cut across him, determined to have her moot point heard by the one she deemed responsible for her personal suffering, "we've realised long before now that what started out as good-natured ribbing might have got a bit... out of hand."

"Do you hear yourself?"

"But we're being shunned everywhere we go! Dryden stopped letting us use his personal stores, and even the first-years look at us like we're refuse, and- and Scorpius won't look at me at all anymore."

For the first time during this confrontation, Albus noticed the Slytherin girl's eyes were quite bloodshot. He wasn't sure if he enjoyed this or not, as it's awful hard to enjoy anyone's misery, no matter how much they've earned it. "Well, that's comeuppance for you, isn't it?"

"It's like spattergroit all over again," she sobbed, clearly struggling not to break down in front of an enemy. "I don't know how much longer I can take this! Why couldn't you just keep your mouth sh-"

"I'm sorry," said Jezabel in a small voice. "I n-never meant to cause so much anguish, this- this isn't what I wanted! Can you f-f-"

"Stop right there," Albus hissed at her, disgusted by what he was hearing. "Don't apologise to them for attacking you! It's about time someone made them take responsibility for the way they treat others!"

Malkin made a helpless sort of gesture. "But this is all just too much - all these punishments, every sodding week, nobody talking to us! We've learned our lesson, why must they keep on flogging away?"

"This lesson was long overdue, you ask me. That's what we're here for, isn't it? To learn how to be decent witches and wizards? Take your lumps like a man and maybe try and remember why you got the detentions in the first place!"

"We got them because she told on us!" Genevieve screamed. "Whatever we - _they_ did to her in that one night, it's nothing compared to what we've had to endure every day since!"

"She didn't blab, you idiot! I did!"

Both Atticus and Genevieve took a step back, mouths agape. "Wh- it was you?" Malkin finally managed.

"That's right! Despite all the horrible things you were doing to her, Jezabel was going to leave it be, and all because she still feels some kind of loyalty to her old House! Now you're screaming at her that she should pay _more_ for what _you_ did to _her?_ Blame me, or rightly blame yourselves, but leave her alone!" He squared his shoulders. "And if you want to take out your unjustified anger on somebody, take it out on me! Go on, then!"

For a brief moment, there was silence as they all considered the situation. Albus wasn't entirely sure why he'd confessed all to a pair of Slytherins and made himself Jezabel's whipping boy, but it was true; he'd gladly take the mistreatment in her place.

"What's the problem, here?"

"I'll _tell_ you wh-" Albus stopped short when he saw Tranquilius Thomas's eyebrows lift yet higher. "Oh. Sorry for the fuss, Tranky, but these gits-"

"We were only talking!" Malkin snapped.

"No, _that_ doesn't sound guilty at _all,_ " Genevieve snarled at him.

"The Head Boy has told all us prefects to watch out for both of you, as well as Tristessa and Goyle," said Tranky mildly, a thoughtful finger at his chin. "I could take House points from Slytherin just for finding you confronting Miss Skirrow again, I'm sure."

"No!" they gasped.

"That's right," said Albus slowly, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I'd forgotten about his start-of-term speech, it was so dull I blanked out everything but the new password. I probably could have docked the points all along, couldn't I?"

"Now just you wait one moment!" Genevieve blustered. "I'm a prefect, too, or had you forgotten that minute detail?"

But Tranky was already shaking his head. "Doesn't stop us penalising Atticus, here. And you might be stripped of prefect status if you try taking any from Jezabel - frankly, I'm surprised they haven't already done that."

The two Slytherins stood there for a moment, indecisive and frustrated. Finally realising their defeat, Genevieve growled, "Come on, Atticus," grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him along toward the stairs.

"Thanks, Tranks," Albus breathed when they had moved out of sight. "Sorted those wankers, that did."

"Yes, thank you," Jezabel echoed, though Albus could tell she wasn't as righteously pleased to see the pair of Slytherins put in their place.

"Sure, sure." He started to move off before stopping to look at Jezabel again. "I've noticed we can all see your face more clearly these days. Makes for a nice change."

"Er..." But she could apparently think of no easy response to this, so she simply flashed him a nervous smile and nodded.

"I agree with him, you know," said Albus once Thomas had made his way upstairs and they had resumed their journey to the Great Hall. "It's easier to talk to you when I don't have to penetrate that wall of hair."

"Why do you think I hid myself behind it to begin with?" Jezabel cast a sidelong glance at him. "I reckoned you knew that one already."

"Oh..." An involuntary snicker escaped him. "Blimey, can't believe I didn't, now I stop and think about it. Or maybe I did, but didn't realise it was intentional?"

"Definitely." She shivered slightly. "Everyone seeing my emotions on display... it's difficult to bear, sometimes."

"They can't see all of them in your face."

She shrugged as they entered the Great Hall. "Makes it easier for them, at least. But I could tell you're more at ease when my hair is out of my eyes, so I've been putting it up more often."

"I am? How can you tell?"

For the first time in his memory, a bemused smile crept into her features. "Really, Albus - that expression of yours right after Rose dragged me through the prefects' bath? Inscrutable, you're not."

o o o

"Mr Potter? Might I have a word?"

That was a somewhat scary phrase. He hadn't the faintest idea why Professor Weasley should hold him after class; had he failed the essay on goblin property taxes? But Rose was already waving from the door, and he found himself facing a concerned-looking aunt.

"It's about the monocle," she whispered, as if afraid the empty classroom were recording their conversation. "You told us you received it from Andromeda Tonks for your birthday in January, correct?"

"Er, yeah. She didn't do it on purpose, did she? I can't believe-"

"No, no," she laughed breathily. "That is to say, I should hope not! Thing of it is, Albus... I've spoken with her recently, and she denied having ever sent you a present at all."

"What?"

"I wonder if you might still have the card, or perhaps the box? Anything would help."

He thought hard for a moment. "Well... I'm sure I binned the card, but the box, yeah, of course. D'you want me to bring it to you?"

"Or Professor Longbottom," she nodded. "Whichever's easiest."

As he slowly made his way toward his next class, Albus thought this over. Before he had merely thought Teddy's grandmother had picked it up in a secondhand shop, not knowing it carried with it a bizarre curse. If she hadn't even sent it, who had? Where had they found it - down Knockturn Alley? Or had they cursed it themselves?

Rose had an alternate theory when he caught her up on Professor Weasley's request in back of the Charms classroom.

"Couldn't I be the latest victim?"

"Victim... of our poltergeist puppetmaster?" He waved his wand again at the four multicoloured balls he was supposed to be making juggle themselves, but only one bounced off the desk; the others remained adamantly still. "Maybe, but this has nothing to do with ghosts - an owl brought the stupid monocle, didn't it?"

"That's true." He glanced over to see his cousin's hair was between her teeth again. "Urgh, why does everything have to be so complicated? And Merlin's pants, will you _STOP THAT?"_

"What, what?"

"What indeed!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "They may be able to hear that shout in Hogsmeade!"

"It's Ryan," she whispered so only Albus and their teacher could hear. "He's, well... he keeps shaking his bum at me to get my attention! I've tried keeping that eye squeezed shut, but that gives me a migraine after a while, and I do-"

"Let me see if I have this right," Albus began, straining to keep his voice level. "Ryan Macmillan is... mooning you? Right now, in the middle of class?"

"I know! You have no idea how difficult it's been to concentrate on school with him acting like a loon in half my field of vision!"

"Very well, then," the professor consoled her, also doing his best not to burst into giggles. "Try and soldier on, my dear."

"Well?" said Albus under his breath once Flitwick had moved off. "The show in your monocle... are you enjoying it a touch?"

Even though seven juggling balls were attacking his face, he thought he noticed her ears begin to glow.

o o o

"I had no idea it was getting so, er... is 'serious' the word exactly? It's kind of..."

"Comical?" Albus offered as his sister poured herself a glass of orange juice the next morning. "Or perhaps 'wacky' is the proper term."

"Ryan must be getting quite bored in there," Lily mused, idly watching the post owls begin to swirl in through the windows, juice halfway to her mouth. "Trapped within a cursed object without food or water? What if he-"

"Peele said the enchantment is probably holding him in a- a- oh, what was it? Something about being animated..."

"A waking state of suspended animation," said Jezabel as she and Rose joined them at the House table. "Most unusual, actually. It might be interesting if not for... well."

Rose scowled. "If it were happening to Travers or Tristessa, instead?" Jezabel made an uncomfortable face, but nodded. "Yeah. Wish I _could_ shove this off on them, at least for a few hours. It's tough having to suffer through his antics day in, day out."

Albus was preparing a sympathetic utterance when James plopped himself down between Rose and Lily. "Heard about what our Beater's been doing in your monocle lately," he began in a highly-inappropriate, conversational fashion. "Has it grown any... worse?"

"How do you mean?" asked Lily.

"Well, has he stripped off all his clothes and began strutting around like a chicken, for example?"

Rose's arm was just raising the milk jug to throw at James's head when an _"OUCH!"_ distracted her. "Huh?"

"What's that?" asked James, eager to avoid being concussed by dairy products.

"Er..." It seemed Jezabel was no more prepared to have an envelope dropped on her head than they were to witness it. "I don't know."

"That's a Ministry seal, that is!" Aiden McLaggen exclaimed from nearby. "What could they want?"

"I don't know," she repeated in fearful tones. "What might I have done? Or... do you think the public fund has run out, and they're going to tell me I can't stay on unless-"

"Don't get yourself all worked up prematurely," snapped Rose. "Open the bloody thing and get it over with!"

"Rose!" hissed Lily.

"Well, he's doing what I believe to be a bastardisation of 'The Hustle' right now-" she thumbed at her left eye "- and being forced to watch something like that is horrendous enough to put anyone on edge, trust me!"

"Nevermind her," soothed Lily. "Go on, let's see what they want."

The five of them (six, including McLaggen) held their collective breaths as Jezabel broke the wax seal, gulped, and withdrew a single sheaf of official parchment. Then the others watched her eyes dart along the lines of text so quickly they were almost a blur, and grew worried when her brow furrowed and she took to staring blankly at the bottom of the page.

"What is it?" Albus coaxed. "What's happened now?"

"Oh, this is barking," said James, snatching the letter from her limp fingers. "I'll read it for the rest of-"

"No, you won't!" Rose growled, doing the same to him. "I at least have an ounce of tact, unlike you!"

"Since when?" Albus jibed automatically. He had already braced himself for her reflexive kick under the table, as well.

"I'll have you know 'tact' is my middle name," James insisted. "I went down to the Ministry and had it changed last month!"

"Oh, give it up, you prat," Lily sighed.

"No, honest! Just because I live in his old room doesn't mean I fancy the name 'Sirius', so I says to myself, 'What's the one word that truly summarises James P-'"

"Holy hippogriffs."

They all turned to Rose, whose right eye was wide with disbelief. When she made no effort to elaborate, Lily prompted, "Are they really?"

"This is a request for an audience, you lot - a deathbed audience."

"What?" Lily squeaked, unsure of having heard her correctly.

"In Azkaban."

No one spoke for several seconds, trying their best to process this one-two punch of news. "Azkaban?" said Albus. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack. In fact, I suspect Jezzy might be having one right about now; I know I would be."

"But... but that's mental," said James, smiling in a hopeful way. "Come off it, what's it really say? There's no- what criminal on earth would send for our little Miss Skirrow here in their final hours?"

Rose opened her mouth, but it was Jezabel herself who answered. "Bellatrix Lestrange, that's who."

_END Chapter Thirty-Seven_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and I don't know about you, but I rather like the idea of Bellatrix cooling her heels in Azkaban for decades on end. She's such a "woman of action" that it seems fitting she be forced to sit around doing nothing instead of being granted a quick and painless death. But what will this mean for our intrepid heroes? Stay tuned for our next episode - same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!
> 
> Feh, I need more sleep...


	38. Azkaban

"Absolutely _not!"_

Headmistress Sprout's sigh was resigned, both to her position on the matter and the ensuing argument. "I'm afraid it isn't up to you, Neville; you know very well that a deathbed request like this supersedes the authority of any Herbology teacher."

The Herbology teacher in question took a deep breath, fighting down the instinct to hex his superior. "With all due respect, Headmistress, this is beyond absurd! We can't have students gallivanting off-campus for unknown reasons, and _especially_ not into prisons! No, I'm sorry, I won't have it!"

"It's out of my hands," she repeated. "Miss Skirrow is of age, it's entirely her decision."

"Besides, dear boy," Professor Flitwick put in, "tomorrow happens to be a Hogsmeade weekend, so she won't be on campus one way or another."

Longbottom bristled. "Filius, you'll appreciate there is a slight difference between the quaint town a stone's throw from the castle and an isolated fortress teeming with the worst of all wizardkind!"

"And there's not much chance of her stepping foot in Hogsmeade again," Albus muttered. Why was he there, anyway? Jezabel had been summoned to see off a former Death Eater as she sailed down the River Styx, not he - nor Rose. Nevertheless, there they sat on either side of the obviously uncomfortable sixth-year, pondering her fate much the same as she herself must be doing.

"What in blazes can they be thinking?" Longbottom was now growling as he paced back and forth in front of the Headmistress' desk, nostrils flaring. "No matter how important whatever that- that-" here he used a word that caused Sprout to remind him children were present "- has to say is, there's no reason Miss Skirrow should be allowed alone in the same room with her!"

"She won't be alone," came a voice from the doorway. The small group turned to find Matthias Peele striding up to them, an apologetic look already in place as if it hadn't left since the letter was sent out that morning.

"You're a party to this?" Longbottom fumed. "You actually _support_ the idea of a student voluntarily walking into the lions' den?"

"Longbottom, I'm surprised at you," said Peele, obviously caught off-guard by his violent reaction. "She'll be amply protected, and I assure you the Lestrange woman is no threat - she's quite ill, may very well pass on before we arrive."

"The world will be all the better for it," he seethed.

"That's enough bickering," Sprout interrupted, and Albus had the distinct impression she was trying to stop the Auror from questioning his Head of House's statement. "It's not doing us any good. Legally, it's all up to Jezabel; she can go if she pleases, and no one could judge her either way."

"Oh." Albus knew Jezabel would rather be anywhere else, doing anything else than deciding a moral dilemma between adults in the Headmistress's office. When she glanced over at him, he tried to give her a reassuring nod, but had the feeling it came off looking more like he had a pinch in his neck. "Well, it's- it's all so very sudden, and the situation, er... unique, to say the least. Really, I can't imagine what she could want with a nobody like me, and I'm curious to find out, but at the same time... at the- oh, how shall I-"

"You'd rather not be chatting up any homicidal maniacs," Rose offered.

"There is that, yes."

"We'll go with you, if you want," said Albus, trying not to give any recognition to Rose's jaw dropping open over Jezabel's shoulder and glad that his words had caused Jezabel to miss it when she turned to look at him. "Might be easier to handle if you've got company along."

"Hold it right there," Longbottom laughed harshly. "That won't be happening. No, no, you two have nothing to do with this madness, _and_ you're underage, _and_ your parents would skin me alive if-"

"I see no reason they shouldn't go," said Sprout wearily. "That is, if their parents approve. It's not as if there isn't a wealth of protection for them, neverminding the safety-in-numbers factor."

He stared evenly at his mentor for several seconds as if she'd Transfigured herself into dodo bird. "You're only too pleased to undermine me today, aren't you?"

"Oh, stop being such a melodramatic ass, Neville. I'll send an owl to the Potters and Weasleys immediately. You three may go to class. I suggest you do the same," she added as Longbottom's mouth began to open again. "Though I'd dearly love an excuse to slap you silly for how you've been behaving in this office, Penelope can't afford to take on yet another subject concurrently."

It seemed to take them hours to descend the spiral staircase and once again reach the corridors, but once they had put significant distance between them and the scene of the snit, Rose demanded, "Why don't you sign us both up before asking me, then? Saves me the trouble of having any free will!"

"You wouldn't help Jezabel?" he fired back at her, knowing full well Jezabel was standing right next to them and hoping Rose was wise enough not to saying anything yet more foolish. Albus, however, had underestimated Rose; her eyebrows arched in a deeply hurt manner. If the monocle hadn't been stuck on, he knew it would have fallen out when this happened.

"What? Don't be stupid, of course I would! I can't believe you think I'd let her fly off to Dark Wizard Central without backup!"

"I don't," he said in a self-satisfied manner. "That's why I offered both our services; thought it would present a more united front."

"Doesn't mean I don't like to be asked," she grumbled.

Jezabel sighed. "Please, both of you, I- I don't want you to go. I don't think I will, either, it's far too dangerous and- unforeseeable, what if she steals a wand from the guard, or-"

"Don't worry so much," Rose replied dismissively. "Three wizarding folk in their prime _plus_ an Auror can overpower some old bat two steps from the grave."

 _"There_ you are!" When they whipped around, it was to find Lily gaining on their position fast, face shining with sweat.

"Lils!" Albus cried. "Did you find out anything?"

"Loads," she gasped, clutching a piece of parchment to her chest. "How about you? Can Jezabel go or is this all a dirty great joke?"

Albus shrugged. "Sprout says she can, but Jezabel's not sure she wants to, yet. What've you got?"

"It seems to be on the up and up," she panted. "The owl I got back from Uncle Percy says everyone at the office has been muttering about this Lestrange woman's turn for the worse - the Azkaban Healer and a pair from St Mungo's confirm all this, it's not an act!"

"Azkaban Healer," said Rose, almost to herself. "Merlin, who'd take _that_ job?"

They continued to debate many aspects of this up into the common room, but as soon as they reached it they realised the second class of the day was about to start, and Rose and Albus had inadvertently missed the first half of Double Potions. They weren't overly concerned.

o o o

"I've just heard what's going on," Barty hissed at them over lunch.

"Have you?" said Rose. "About the exploding dreidel and the thirty-pound flan?"

"Wh-what?"

"Fine, fine," she gusted. "Let's talk about the field trip to Azkaban."

He rolled his eyes, finally realising Rose had been winding him up. "The lot of you must be mad to even consider it - I cannot believe your parents approve! Do they know what kind of element resides in there?"

"No, pray tell," said Albus, unable to help himself.

"Hooligans! Scoundrels! Law-breakers and sinners! Why, you might not even come out of there alive, and then what would you have to say for yourselves?"

"Not much, I expect," said Rose. "Unless we come back as ghosts and haunt you for being so annoying."

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," he growled, stalking away.

Rose leaned over to Albus. "He needn't worry; you think I want it known my cousin is such a daftie?"

o o o

The trek down into Hogsmeade Village next morning seemed even longer this time than it had on the previous occasions. Jezabel kept herself directly between Albus and Rose, as if hoping they would prevent her from being seen and they might all make this trip unmolested because of it.

It had taken her right up until supper the previous night to confirm that she was going. Though she remained terrified of entering a prison and speaking directly with a well-known villain of yesteryear, the questions of why she'd been asked to do it at all tormented her so thoroughly that she at last decided she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she missed her only chance to find out more. Albus thought she was brave. Rose thought she was insane, but sympathised with her thirst for knowledge. Barty thought they'd all taken complete leave of their senses.

Matthias Peele waited in front of the Three Broomsticks for them, travelling cloak drawn around him as if it were far colder than it truly was. He flashed them a nervous smile, and when they were within easy speaking distance he asked, "Ready?"

Rose swallowed. "If that's what you want to call it."

"Should I do Side-Along as well?" asked a Jezabel whom had managed to appear more pale than usual. "I've never been to- well, that is, I don't know where I'm going, even though I've passed the test."

"Just hold onto my cloak and follow my lead," he instructed. "Should be enough to get you there, and I'll double back for you if you get lost or splinched. These two, I'll need to grip rather tightly, so I won't be able to spare an arm for one more."

They all took positions, glancing around at the happy hamlet they were leaving behind for a gaol. Albus had just enough time to question his own sanity again before Peele had counted to three - then they all felt themselves turning into the darkness, being squeezed through a pipe and out the other side, suffocating before gulping the first breaths of salty sea air.

_"WHOA!"_

No sooner had they completed their journey than Rose was bowled backward onto an outcropping of rocks by a turbulent wave; Peele moved quickly to help her, but the damage was already done, and she was holding the small of her back when they rejoined the other two.

"S-Sorry about that," he said earnestly, almost obscenely more on edge now that they were approaching the belly of the beast. "But this is the only p-part of the island we can Apparate on; the rest has a-"

"Like Hogwarts," Jezabel breathed, staring wide-eyed at the waves and surrounding miles of ocean. Was that sweat breaking out all over her forehead? "Yes, of course it would, that's rather an important precaution."

"Smart girl," he laughed nervously.

"Well, I think it's lousy," Rose spat, moving like an old woman. "You could at least level these rocks, build a wall to keep the ocean from sweeping away the visitors!"

Peele nodded, his face showing that he shared her feelings. "I'll drop that in the suggestion box. Meanwhile, I suppose we should get inside."

Albus's green eyes grew wide as he turned. "Merlin Ambrosius..."

Azkaban Prison was as impressive as it was daunting. Every wall of its many floors was made of pitch-black stone, and the windows were so tiny they were more like airholes. Turrets poked up from each corner, presumably reserved for the worst of the worst criminals. Two armed, thick-set wizards and a security troll stood outside the main gate.

"State your name and business," said one of the wizards.

"Matthias P-Peele," he bumbled, breath coming faster all the time. Rose edged away from the troll, trying to accomplish this without drawing attention to herself. "Two young witches and one young wizard to see prisoner AZ452."

The man blinked as if they'd asked to hold a dinner party there. "What? These children? Credentials, please." Albus glimpsed a scroll with a Ministry seal being unslit, pored over for a few moments, then resealed and handed back. "Very well. Tobbs will take you along to her cell."

As forbidding as the outside had been, the inside was equally dismal and dreary, its gloom more than a match for the sparse light from the window slits and Tobbs's wandtip. Shrieks and deranged laughter rang out from the far corners, just barely audible from their position. When a clang sounded down a branching hallway, Albus felt thin fingers clamp down on his own.

"It's okay," he whispered to Jezabel. "We're not leaving."

"How would we?" laughed Rose nervously. "Neither of us can Apparate. Blimey, there's a lovely thought - no escape."

"Not helping, Rose!"

"It's okay," Jezabel squeaked. "I'm... I'm okay. This won't take very long, I'm sure. How much can she possibly have to say to me?"

"If we knew that, we wouldn't have to come," Albus replied.

"Say... Mr Peele," Rose began as she craned her neck to see down another passage, "where are the dementors?"

"Dementors?" he laughed. "Goodness, child, we drove them off ages ago!"

"You did? But... but Dad always used to threaten to send us here and let the dementors have us if we misbehaved. You're telling me it's all a myth?"

Tobbs sighed, voice bitter and callous. "If only it were. I've been a guard wizard all my life, and believe you me, having the dementors around made this job a living hell, and I mean that in a very literal sense. Thank Merlin the Wizengamot saw reason. This is the one," he said abruptly, glowering around at them with his coal-black eyes as he stopped next to a door identical to the others around it. "And I'm afraid I'll need to hold the civilians' wands."

"What?" shouted Albus. "B-but what if-"

"It's all right," Matthias gusted, smoothing over the few hairs left atop his head. "I'll be keeping tight hold on mine; trained law enforcement professionals are allowed to keep theirs around the prisoners, but one too many wizards have come here for a 'visit', only to exact cold revenge on a defenseless sworn enemy... or else the prisoner is able to wrest the wand from the visitor and makes a mess in their attempt for freedom. Rules are rules for a reason."

Jezabel slowly held hers up for the guard to confiscate, and after a few more seconds, Albus and Rose followed suit. Then the key was turning in the lock, the door was opening, and the four of them were walking inside.

The sight on the other side of the room brought a hush upon them. The Azkaban Healer was at the head of a grimy-looking bed, tending to a figure lying among the sheets. The Healer, for his part, was a reedy sort of man with salt-and-pepper hair and long sideburns. The patient wasn't clearly visible from their vantage point, but she was dressed in tatty prison robes, and her bare, gnarled feet spoke of severe malnutrition. The mad tangle of black hair obscured the rest of her.

"Cor blimey," Rose breathed.

"Who's there?" a thin, angry voice demanded. "Who's in here?"

"A visitor," said Mr Peele unnecessarily loudly, fiddling with the neck of his robes. "You sent for her, remember?"

"Ahh... ah, yes. Ickle Jezzybel has finally paid us a visit, has she?" Before they could react, a violent cough came from the bed, and the Healer bent over her in some concern. "Oh, get off, you hovering bat! My guest... bring her closer."

No one moved. Jezabel glanced at Albus, who glanced at Rose, who glanced at Mr Peele, who glanced at the Healer, who glanced back at Jezabel. This circle continued for a round or two before Rose finally poked Jezabel in the small of the back, chivvying her forward and next to the bed. Her two friends followed a pace behind, and when they all beheld the creature that had summoned them, Albus had to trod on his own foot to keep from staggering backward or crying out.

She looked like a ghoul. It was the only accurate description. Sunken, filmed-over eyes and cheekbones, premature wrinkles, laboured breathing... the collarbones stood out so much further than he believed possible that he first assumed she was wearing some strange sort of necklace. Her mouth widened, revealing a few blackened teeth and many holes where others had been.

"Good morning, cupcake," she rasped, blinking slowly up at them. "How was your trip?"

"Very well, thank you," Jezabel lied. "How have you been keeping, Mrs Lestrange?"

"Oh, let's dispense with all that bilge," she wheezed with a feeble wave of one hand. "I don't have enough time left to play Dukes and Duchesses." Then she squinted, an action that seemed to take great effort. "Who the bloody hell are these - and why does a teenager need a monocle?"

"Albus Potter, ma'am," he said softly. "And this is Rose Weasley."

 _"POTTER?"_ she gasped, visibly shaken. "No... no, take him away, I don't want to see any Potters! I've had enough of them for one lifetime! And as for Weasleys, well, they've put me in here, haven't they? You bumbling blighters, how can you have- when I'm-"

The rest of her words were cut off by a hacking fit twice as severe as the first, and Mr Peele motioned for Albus and Rose to stand by him instead, but Jezabel said, "N-no, don't!"

"What?" the Lestrange woman gasped between coughs. "You- you'd deny a dying woman- her preference in- in conditions?"

"I..." She waffled for a moment before taking in a deep breath. "I'm not staying if they don't. They're my f- my friends."

Albus gave Jezabel's hand a quick squeeze, which she returned. Meanwhile, Rose beamed in a satisfied manner, folding her arms over her chest. "Looks like it's all or nothing, you old hag."

The ailing prisoner gawped at them for several moments before falling to another fit of coughing. After a moment, however, Albus began to suspect that this was supposed to resemble laughter. "Just like the dog that bit me. Must have Molly for an ancestor somewhere." Then her eyes went back to Jezabel. "So you've caught some of the old spunk after all, eh? I was afraid those damned Muggles would have ruined you completely. Very near happened to this boy's father, didn't it?"

For the first time, Jezabel seemed to be more confused than afraid, especially because the prisoner was glaring at Albus again. "What?"

"My goodness, it's been so long since I've had proper company... two years, since Rodolphus passed, that is. Tell me, how have you been doing at Hoggy Warty Hogwarts? Getting top marks, I'll bet. Wouldn't expect any less."

"Er, well... I, er-"

"She's a genius," said Albus at once. "All O's."

"Naturally," Bellatrix sighed, closing her eyes with a smile. "Still, it is good to hear it wasn't all for nothing. Suppose Draco's offspring is flushing their marks down the loo."

"Mrs Lestrange," Jezabel began hesitantly, "I- I have been wondering why you've called me here. Is there something I can do for you? Perhaps..." Something seemed to come back to her, and she spared Albus a quick glance before continuing, "Perhaps you knew my parents, and you'd like them to do a favour for you? Or-"

"Your parents," she spat, as if force-fed medicine by the nearby Healer. "Yes, yes, a favour for family is always distinctly unpleasant, isn't it? Those Muggles had to do one, and look what it got them - a thundering headache, I'm sure! Well, you'll hex them good for me, won't you? Yes... yes, you'll do that..."

The three of them were so bewildered by these statements that they could think up no response, silently asking each other if they were thinking the same thing: had this woman's mind already faded? Were they standing around listening to the rantings of a senile inmate, wasting a perfectly good Saturday?

"Come closer, child."

Albus found he could actually see the muscles in Jezabel's throat moving as she gulped. With one last squeeze, she let go of his hand to move directly over the bed, sitting upon a stool that had been placed there in anticipation of her visit.

"Yes," the ghastly creature breathed, raising a trembling hand to her face. "Every bit. Those proud lips... oh, and the eyes. Hmm, no mistaking those, most exotic among all wizardkind. I recognise that jaw, as well - hate to admit that part, but you can't have got all the choice bits, I suppose. And-" A slight crease appeared in the dying woman's brow. "Well. I wouldn't have believed it to be true if I hadn't seen it myself."

"What is it?" Jezabel prompted, desperately hoping the next bizarre proclamation would make sense of all the others.

"The bump," she said easily, gesturing to the bridge of her nose. "They said it'd be there, but I figured that was a load of nonsense. Then again, I didn't believe it was really going to happen at all before it did, so what do I know?"

As she fell to cackling and coughing again, Jezabel chanced a questioning look back at her travelling companions, both of whom shrugged helplessly. Albus wished that he could translate these rantings for her, but he was coming up blank.

"Jezabel."

And suddenly, inexplicably, Albus knew what was happening. The tone of her voice, the hand clutching at her chest... and a suspicion of what was about to be spoken into the room. The stage was set for this moment in his mind, and though he couldn't believe it, he watched with baited breath to see if his mental picture would come to life.

The other hand reached feebly, searching. Instinctively, Jezabel caught hold of it, and the smile on Bellatrix's lips said that was her goal all along.

"Even though my arm was twisted, and even if you turn out to be a Muggle-loving pustule or a nitwit Ministry lackey... I am glad I got to meet you once before I snuffed it. I... I wanted to see if that cur and I had forged a powerful descendant. Seems we did."

The comprehension had just begun to creep into Jezabel's eyes when Bellatrix turned to the two cousins, standing back a bit and feeling quite out of place. "One last thing to tend to, and my debt is paid. Pottymouth... you and your girlfriend there will need to help her through it. The teachers or Ministry brass will be able to force their way in there, I'm sure, but only a strong bond can help her get out." Her eyes were still on him as she spat, "Oh, why did it have to be _you?_ "

When all three of them returned their gaze to Jezabel, they found she was crying quietly, the tears as thick as ever Albus had seen them. Before Bellatrix could say another word, she whispered, "M... Mother?"

"Couldn't even send you a post until you were of age - and here I am, dying just weeks after. Beautiful timing, isn't it? Feels like Dumbledore rigged it from the other side."

"No, y-you can't be," Jezabel blubbered, both horrified and sorrowful. Albus heard Rose gasp in his ear as she caught up. "That's impossible, absurd, it- I'm not your-"

"Help her wake up," she croaked, sounding more and more feeble, more and more desperate to finish. "Farewell, my Jezabel, and... and there is one more word I have to leave you with."

Doe eyes grew wide, bottom lip quivering as she impulsively leaned farther over the Death Eater, unable to accept that she had been granted this unprecedented gift for a whole thirty seconds before having it cruelly ripped from her. "M-m-mother!"

It was all coming true - everything Albus had envisioned, deranged though it seemed. But his brief brush with clairvoyance ended there; Albus had not been expecting her to raise a shaking hand, nor for her to place her index finger on the bump on Jezabel's nose. Then, so very obviously clinging to her last few breaths, Bellatrix Lestrange whispered, "Evelyne."

It seemed like everything became still for an eternal instant; then, the arm fell limply to the bed, and one last, laboured breath escaped the frail woman's lips. The Healer took her pulse, nodded, and used his fingers to draw her eyelids closed.

"Merlin's beard," said Rose in hushed tones. "It's... this is mad, it's all so-"

"What's..."

Both cousins looked up at Jezabel, afraid of the conclusions they might reach once they all began talking. But they needn't have bothered worrying about that just yet, for they had another problem.

"What's happening to me?" she squealed, dark eyes crossed as they stared at the bump on her nose - which had begun to glow. As the other four living beings in the room looked on, the glow swelled and encompassed all of her nose, then her entire face, making it shine like a sunburst. "A-Albus, help! Make it stop, make it-"

The glow was gone. Her head rolled to one side. Jezabel slumped to the floor.

_END Chapter Thirty-Eight_


	39. Mentacles

"Mr Peele, you had damn well better start talking."

The Auror glanced around at the two cousins, the Death Eater's corpse, the unconscious girl he was responsible for, and the Healer that was making sure her vitals were stable. Frowning deeply at this turn of events, he took several deep, steadying breaths and said, "What d-do you want to know?"

"Well," Albus growled, "why our friend started to light up like a Christmas tree for no apparent reason seems a likely place to start!"

"Your guess is as good as mine! That and the fainting, _if_ they're related or not, are a complete mystery to me!"

"But you did know something else." Rose walked over to the bed, staring down into the wasted sack of bones that had once been the Dark Lord's strong right hand. She swallowed hard, fighting to keep from letting everything overwhelm her. "This Lestrange bat... she _was_ Jezabel's mother, wasn't she? You knew all along."

Several seconds passed before Matthias answered, and when he did he refused to look any of them in the eye. "I did. And I was sworn never to tell, not a soul, but... as she's told you herself, I see no point in keeping my silence, now."

Albus shook his head distractedly. "How? How could she bear to have a child in prison, and- and how did Jezabel come to live with those awful people?"

"It was all arranged, and I'll say no more than that," he said firmly. "I'm still in no position to reveal more information to anyone, much less underage students."

Rose fired up at once. "Y'know, everybody places so much importance on the fact that we're still wet behind the ears, yet from where I'm standing the adults of this wide wizarding world aren't any cleverer than we are!"

Matthias sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, and Albus thought the somewhat condescending air he maintained around Albus and his peers seemed to fade. "You know, if it _were_ up to me - which it isn't - I'd probably just make everything public knowledge and have done with it. But that's not how witches and wizards like Bellatrix Lestrange work, is it? Secrets and cover-ups are the tools of their trade."

"Let me take a stab at this." Albus craned his neck to better view what the Healer was doing to Jezabel. His brain had been filling in the blanks ever since Bellatrix confirmed his initial unpleasant theory. " _Someone_ arranged to have a child with her, either a husband on the outside or another inmate or some other bloke entirely. Of course, the father has to be someone who couldn't keep his child, since she was dumped on a family of dyed-in-the-wool Muggles."

Their escort said nothing.

"She grows up knowing nothing about it... and they probably didn't know anything, either. Or if they did, they kept it a secret. Then, Headmistress McGonagall shows up to invite her to Hogwarts, and their whole world is thrown into chaos."

"She wasn't a Muggle-born," gasped Rose, glancing back at Albus. "If this Lestrange cow was her mum, that means she _can't_ have been - a Death Eater wouldn't dare have a baby with any Muggle!"

"Yep." More to himself, Albus muttered, "He wasn't seeing things - he knew."

"But this is brilliant! The Slytherins gave her so much grief, and... and all along, her mother was one of the Darkest witches of all time! Oh, I can just see their faces when they hear ab-"

" _NO!_ " shouted both Peele and Albus at the same time. With a brief glance at the younger, the elder continued, "What you have found out is n-not to leave this room! Can you imagine the wizarding community's reaction when they find out that certifiably wretched Death Eater had a d-daughter? One who's been allowed to go to school with their own children?"

The scoff from Rose was not unexpected by Albus. "So? She's different from her mum as night from day, far as I can see. Been nothing but kind to us from the off."

"They won't care," said Albus bitterly, eyes fixed on the prone figure on the floor. "Remember what Dad said? What happened to Hagrid, to Teddy's father?"

"Oh..." But Rose shook her head. "That was ages ago, though - before Voldemort took the Ministry, before the Battle Of Hogwarts! People are more open-minded these days!"

"Not _that_ open-minded," said Mr Peele. "You might think I'm a pretty poor caseworker, but I know Jezabel's had a lot of trouble making friends in school - this year being a welcome step in the right direction," he added, flashing them a weary smile. "But I'm sure if the public were to discover her parentage, some paranoid old fool would demand a psychological evaluation, and try and put a Magical Law Enforcement wizard in her dormitory, and who knows what other measures to make her remaining school days a living nightmare. It might have been easier if they'd all known from the start, but it's too late for that."

Rose shook her head hopelessly. "So what do we do now?"

"That depends. Resarcius, do you have any ideas?"

"Not a one," the Healer sighed. "Whatever's going on in this poor girl's head, it's a fairly uncommon ailment. Beyond my scope. We ought to get her to St Mungo's, I'm sure someone down there can sort her."

"Or to Hogwarts," Albus suggested. "All the teachers there - if it's some obscure curse-"

"Might not be a bad idea," Peele admitted, wiping his shining forehead with a handkerchief. "Yes, let's try that first. Oh, I knew something like this would happen, but she's of age, and I was sworn to-"

"Yeah, yeah," Rose muttered as she and Albus helped the Healer lift Jezabel's limp body. "Keep telling yourself that."

o o o

It amazed Albus that the story of their day trip to the most notorious wizarding prison in the world had not quickly become the stuff of rumours within Hogwarts Castle. Of course, the entire school was well aware that Jezabel Skirrow had come back from Hogsmeade unconscious and that they could not wake her, but few gave it much thought; she was so often being treated in such a despicable manner that it seemed like business as usual. Those who knew the full story were grateful for that small mercy.

Madam Pomfrey used every method of waking an injured student she had at her disposal (and the list was extensive), but it quickly became obvious that this was no mere concussion or anemia at work, and she yielded to the experts in the area of charms and curses. Professors Peele, Flitwick and Dryden spent the greater part of that day and well into the night chanting and circling Jezabel's bed, wands swirling to and fro as they attempted to divine the secrets of this enchantment. It wasn't until after quite a sleepless night that Albus, Rose and Professor Longbottom were summoned to the hospital wing during their Sunday breakfast.

"As her closest friends and Head of House," said Matthias (Albus saw he was holding his wife's hand), "I thought it appropriate to call you here."

"Fine, fine." Albus only wished Longbottom wouldn't say this through gritted teeth, but he knew his earlier warnings appeared to have been more than justified. "What news?"

"Yes," began Professor Dryden, index fingers placed over his mouth and touching the underside of his crooked nose. "Unfortunately, what we're dealing with here is something akin to Mentacles."

Both Longbottom and Rose groaned. Albus watched their reactions for a moment before saying, "Sorry, but... what's that?"

"Mentacles," Longbottom began heavily, "is a blanket term given to any number of... mind traps, if you will. They work in many different ways, varying with the designer's whims, but they all essentially create a puzzle of sorts within the victim's brain that will only release if it is solved. Hasn't been a reported case in decades - the popularity waned after Nigmus Cyrillano managed to put one on himself and never got back out. See, the best witches and wizards the world over have attempted to break Mentacles in ways other than solving the riddle, but if the caster was at all worth their salt..."

"What, what?"

"If you try to remove the enchantment in an unnatural way," said Professor Peele carefully, "it either won't work, or... you may end up doing more harm than good. Permanent, irreversible harm, if you see what we mean."

"I think I can," sighed Albus, moving closer to the foot of the bed where Jezabel lay, pale and lifeless. "Messing around with somebody's head like that sounds like a bad idea."

"There is one thing we can do," said Dryden in a low voice, looking pointedly at the ceiling. "It is risky, and everyone has been insisting I stop bringing it up, but-"

"Why haven't you, then?" demanded Flitwick. "It's outrageous, we can't risk trifling!"

"What is it?" asked Longbottom, curious as he was wary.

"Legillimency."

"That's enough!" both Peeles insisted in unison. The wife continued, "You'll not be floating these crackpot theories about when it comes to the safety of this child! Honestly, a shaky discipline like astral injection in a sensitive matter such as _this?_ "

Dryden frowned nastily at both of them. "We have already established that if she does not solve it herself within two days, her faculties may start to deteriorate from prolonged exposure to the negativity of such a spell. But if someone were to attempt to aid her in solving-"

"They might very well destroy her mind in the process!" Flitwick squeaked.

"I thought Legillimency only allowed someone to read the surface of someone's mind," said Rose weakly. "Are you saying there's more to it?"

Dryden smirked, obviously pleased that one of his students was quick enough to keep up with the conversation. "It's a vastly undeveloped and neglected branch of the discipline, but yes, there is much more to Legillimency than fortune telling. Dream-Dropping, for instance, can be a gratifying pastime, especially when one is residing in a musty old boarding house full of-"

"Enough, Austerus," said Professor Peele. "It won't be so very easy, not when dealing with Mentacles - _especially_ not such an unusual case as this."

"Why is it so unusual?" asked Longbottom. "From what I've heard, our favourite Death Eater placed the spell with her final breath, it can't be all that complex."

"Well..."

They all turned to stare at Matthias. When he noticed they were waiting for him to continue, he said, "If I may be so bold, I believe she activated a curse already firmly in place in Jezabel's body. I couldn't say how it got there, perhaps set in place long before by her or a fellow student, but-"

"That would be in line with our findings," muttered Dryden. "It is so pervasive and precise that I found it hard to believe a dying witch could cook this up in her final moments - and without a wand! Madam Lestrange's prowess may be legendary, but that's unheard of!"

"So this, er, Legillimency..." All eyes now went to Albus, but his were focused solely on his Potions Master. "You can use it to place yourself inside their mind?"

"Yes," he confirmed, sounding almost annoyed that he hadn't grasped this yet. "If you put enough power behind it, and with a few potions to grease the proverbial wheels, your spectral being can become entirely immersed - not so unlike using a Pensieve. It is inadvisable in most cases, as it leaves your physical body completely unprotected, and if you don't return to it after more than twelve hours, well..."

When he drew his finger across his throat, Rose whimpered.

Albus nodded, jaw set as his gaze returned to the bed they were gathered around. Even as he watched, Jezabel's eyelids twitched, as if she'd been pricked unexpectedly. "I'll do it."

 _"WHAT?"_ shouted several voices at once. Eventually, the din settled enough that Longbottom's voice rose to the forefront. "...be impaled by your mother if I let that happen, I'm sure! Really, Mr Potter, how do you expect-"

"The gesture is meaningless, anyway," said Matthias. "Courageous and sharp though this boy may be, the likelihood of him mastering Legillimency in twenty-four hours is quite slim!"

"He needn't," Dryden countered. Albus suspected he was enjoying pushing this long-shot idea, excited to test his own limits and laugh in their faces. "There have been several cases of experienced wizards acting as a superconductor for thought patterns; the young man need only learn the basics."

"I should think you'd rather do it yourself," said Longbottom in disbelief. "Why involve the boy at all?"

"Bellatrix said we'd have to do it." When Matthias stiffened, Albus knew he'd hit on something brilliant, and his resolve strengthened. "Remember, Rose? All that talk about 'she'll need a strong bond to get out', and that we'd have to wake her up? She meant we were supposed to help her solve her brain puzzle!"

"Potter!" Longbottom snapped as Rose nodded dismally. "Do use your common sense! What do you imagine a fifth-year can possibly accomplish that a seasoned wizard like Dryden can't?"

"Well, I managed to convince a battered, disillusioned sixth-year not to abandon her education," he said venomously, suddenly quite angry. Didn't they realise a girl was slowly dying right in front of them? "It's better than any of you could scrape, isn't it?"

 _"Enough!"_ shouted Professor Peele. "All this shouting isn't going to solve anything!"

"You're shouting, too, dear," her husband said under his breath. When she glared daggers at him, he returned his attention to the others. "And, er, it s-seemed to be Miss Lestrange's dying wish that Mr Potter and Miss Weasley help their friend recover from this, this... predicament."

"A predicament she caused in the first place!" said Professor Flitwick, hopping angrily and wagging his finger. "How can we trust that all three of them won't end up dying once they get tangled in the Mentacles?"

"I've just the failsafe charm for that." Dryden, again, relished the opportunity to deflate their winning arguments with his knowledge of spellwork. "But one of them must stay behind. For it, I will but need two hairs; they should preferably be long and rather clean."

"Oh, please," sighed Professor Peele. "That old trick never works."

"Perhaps you've just been doing it wrong, Lautitia," he insisted as he walked up behind Rose, reached out and yanked a few hairs directly from her scalp.

 _"OUCH!_ Bloody hell, that hurts, you f-"

"Temper, temper," he warned, eyes flashing dangerously. "I am still your professor, and I won't hesitate to hand you a month of detentions if you go too far. Now, if there are no further objections, I say we begin immediately; time is at a premium, after all."

o o o

Liquid.

It was the first impression that came to Albus when his eyes opened. Why was he sinking? Didn't he know how to swim? Of course, his father had taught him; quite a good swimmer, his father. But his arms wouldn't move. What was happening?

Heat.

It was the first impression that came to Albus when his eyes opened. Why was it so stifling in here? Every breath set his lungs on fire, and sweat poured down his face in rivulets. He ought to open a window - but were there any windows?

Caught.

It was the first impression that came to Albus when his eyes opened. How long had he been stuck here? Much more important was the fact that he could not move. There was nothing to see in front of him, only darkness - though the pattern on the ceiling resembled the shapes of Chocolate Frog cards. Where _was_ he?

Minutes passed, hours. Nothing was happening. Experimentally, he tried to will himself away from the spot - he should be able to do that in an astral state, shouldn't he? Then he heard an ominous sound approaching him. Was it help? No, no it sounded dangerous, he instinctively knew he could not let it catch him - but how to escape? Struggling did not help, nor sheer determination.

Then the humongous mandibles were snapping inches from his face, and he screamed, the attacker's head was the spine of an enormous book, he braced himself for-

Heat.

It was the first impression that came to Albus when his eyes opened. The second was déjà vu. How many times had he done this before? Every breath set his lungs on fire, and sweat poured down his face in rivulets. The sun stabbed into his eyes, his retinas screamed out in pain, and he rolled onto his stomach to avoid staring directly into it.

Sand. Where on earth-? But he wasn't on earth. He was in the ether, on the plane of dreams. As Albus rose to his feet, he became aware that he was wearing a gossamer robe of the palest green. His hands, arms and feet were bare, and quite bronze compared with what he was used to seeing in the mirror. Only the strand around his finger seemed familiar; good, it had worked. Now to begin his quest.

The determination alone would not be enough. As far as his eyes could see, there was nothing but desert - no mountains, no oasis, not a single cactus in sight. Apparently it was noon, because the sun was directly overhead. Which way was which? Where to start?

Then he spotted a flicker. Glad for any sign of life, he set off toward it immediately, tripping over the dunes in his haste to reach what could be nothing but a mirage. As he drew closer, he thought he recognised the movements; animals. Many of them. What was he to do once he got there?

This thought seemed to quicken his pace; before he knew it, he was soaring low over the ground, wind whipping at his lightweight garments, and in seconds he had arrived at the edge of the scene. Landing deftly as if from his own broomstick, he slowly approached.

Wildebeest. A herd of well over a dozen, grazing in a patch of desert grass. Some tossed their heads magnificently, some ate, some lay ready for a nap. It was beautiful; Albus had only seen animals in their natural habitat through the books his parents bought him, and he resisted the urge to reach out and touch one. But their peace was soon disturbed without his help.

They noticed before he did. The heads of the dozing creatures raised, looking behind him and to the right, and the others soon joined in watching. When Albus turned to investigate, he gasped.

It was the most grotesque monster he'd ever seen; as he backed toward the herd, the sky clouded over and plunged the scene into a grey semi-darkness. What was it? An elk? A hyena? No, an ox, perhaps; it was certainly of that size. Whatever it was, those long, leathery bat wings did not belong on its enormous body.

The eyes glowed red as it stalked toward them, paralysing his prey. Was it magic? No, only instinct; the wildebeest all seemed to sense that if they bolted, it would devour them first. Many pawed the ground, making angry noises at the predator. Albus knew he did not want this creature to get them.

"What sort of puzzle is this?" he asked aloud, mostly to himself. "Do I have to kill this- this thing? Protect the other animals? What am I doing here?"

He had no more time to think. When he turned back to the beast, he saw it was circling them - and at the same moment, a heavy weight on his arms registered without warning. He spared a glance down and was amazed to see he'd suddenly acquired a round shield and a fine sword with a wide blade. Fighting seemed to be the idea.

 _"Yaargh!"_ he cried as he hurtled toward his foe, slashing the air wildly in the hopes that he could strike a blow in the initial confusion that might grant him an advantage throughout the rest of the battle. But the moment the beast spotted him, it tried to leap out of the way, and-

_SQUELCH._

It was an awful sound to hear, his weapon piercing the hide of the monstrosity. Forged steel sank into the flank, all the way to the hilt.

It bellowed. It shuddered and moaned. Albus began to back away, too appalled at this whole chain of events to try and recover his sword. Then, just when he was about to turn away and be sick, the beast gazed directly into his eyes. It was crying. Could animals cry?

"What the- hey!"

Now it was fleeing. Stunned, he noticed a forest where there had been none before, and the beast took shelter inside. Several birds flew from its depths.

He turned to the herd of wildebeest, wondering if they would now give him some directions for his next task, but they were gone, as well. Where? Not into the forest, he would have seen them. What's more, the patch of grass they had been grazing on had disappeared without trace.

"This is mental."

With no recourse left but to enter the forest, Albus hefted his shield and began picking his way through thick trees and brush, silently hoping a centaur or demented automobile wasn't going to descend upon him. After several metres, he noticed the trail of blood; he had wounded the beast, after all. It was foolishness, but he had nothing better to do whilst in Jezabel's head.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?" No answer. "Am I supposed to be finding the Fountain Of Fair Fortune or something?" No answer. Albus banged his shield loudly against a nearby trunk. "Damn it, I'm trying to solve a mystery, here - how about a clue?"

A loud grunt was his response. Leaping over the last few tree roots, he found a small clearing where the abomination had decided to lick its wounds. Hesitantly, he approached, but it roared at him.

"Easy, now," he breathed, holding his hands toward it, palms out. "That's right. Sorry about that nasty barb I stuck you with. Mind if I take it out?" When the creature made no notice of whether or not he had spoken, he reached for the sword, made sure he had a firm grip, gritted his teeth, and slid it out.

His eardrums felt like they were going to rupture from the agonised roars. After several moments, it quieted, and took to grunting and panting from the effort of bearing the pain Albus had inflicted.

"That's better, isn't it?" he sighed, tossing the sword aside on the grass. "Now... I'm trying to help a friend of mine. She's around here somewhere. Can you take me to her?"

For all the creature responded, he might as well have been belching the alphabet. Albus asked it several more questions, but it only tossed its horned, furry head and looked at him with those large eyes. What would it take? Was he following the wrong lead?

Albus then spotted a change in the creature's eyes; they had been different ever since he entered the clearing, but he had failed to notice at first. They were now a deep dun colour, not at all red as when it was stalking its prey. A sick feeling of remorse welled up within him as he whispered, "You're not a killer at all, are you?" The creature cocked its head to one side, still breathing in a troubled manner. "Of course not; you never did attack anything. I only saw you as vicious because your size and appearance are so intimidating..."

He slumped against the beast's side, absentmindedly stroking its tangled, zig-zagging mane. Its eyes drew half-closed, sighing contentedly. "Well, whatever you are, I only wish you could help me get out of here. Or take me to Jezabel. You can't do either of those things, though, I'm s-"

At the sound of Jezabel's name, the creature jerked to its feet, unsteady from loss of blood and pain. "Whoa!" Albus said, rising with it. "What's the problem?" Before he had time to object, he was astride the creature's back, and they were thundering through the forest, branches and leaves whipping at his face. Minutes passed, and they broke free of the branches, climbing into the sky on the animal's wings. The air was cooler now that the sun was not tormenting them, and Albus had just enough time to begin to enjoy their ride before it was over, and he was being deposited in another, larger clearing.

"What's this thing?" he asked as he stared up at the high stone archway. "The way home?" When the beast only nuzzled him (which made him shiver; it was still quite large with sharp teeth), he snorted and said, "Thanks, but I'm not going anywhere until I help my friend. You sure you don't know where Jezabel is?" No response. "Great. Well... I guess if you want to, you can go; thanks for everything, though."

But it made no move to leave. Albus began petting it again, but before he could come up with an alternate plan, a voice behind him said, "That being shall only lead you astray."

He turned to find himself beholding what could only be described as a goddess. Her own robes held the faintest golden tint, and her fair hair fanned out behind her on an intangible breeze, sandaled feet inches above the grass. Perfectly formed, ruby-red lips said, "You are trespassing. Go now, and do not trouble yourself about this place. All is as it should be."

"Are you... no. Are you Jezabel?" he asked. The woman only continued to smile at him. "But you look so... so different. What's going on, where did this animal come from?"

"Do not trouble yourself with its plight," she replied serenely. "I will remove it from this plane, for it has no more right here than yourself."

"Remove it? As in... as in kill it? But you can't, that's not-"

"Stand aside and I shall end its suffering," she said pleasantly, as if trying to convince a toddler that milk was indeed good for strong, healthy bones. Her hands began to glow faintly. "Please. It will feel no pain."

"No."

The woman's perfect brow furrowed. "Your actions confuse me. Why would you wish to keep a thing such as this alive, especially when its wounds are mortal?"

"It's got the right to decide that for itself," he said stubbornly. "Anyway, I think I kind of like it; might be unusual, different than anything I've ever seen, but that doesn't make it bad."

"This is your final chance, and I shall not ask again," she said quietly, smile replaced by a sober look of concern. The entirety of her arms were now radiating power. "Do not place yourself between the judge and the judged. Stand aside."

"I'm sorry," he said, raising the shield that suddenly felt very pitiful compared with this deity. "I can't."

The glow faded. "Then shall you take it with you?"

"What?"

The woman landed in front of him, and the feeling that she was a goddess only rose as she neared. "If you leave it here, I shall dispose of it. If you take it with you, I will not be held responsible for any damage it may do to your world. What is your decision?"

Albus thought hard. Even if it did get out of hand, surely Hagrid or one of the other professors could tame it, right? Either way, he couldn't leave it to a certain end. "It's coming with me. But first I have to find-"

"Very well."

With a brilliant flash of light, she was gone, and he and the beast were alone before the stone archway.

"That was something else," he gusted. "What now, er... what should I call you, anyway?" But the name came to him unbidden, as if he'd known all along what he would name another pet when he got one. "There is that word the Lestrange woman used to create this world, and I found you here... can I call you Evelyne? You like that name?"

The creature nuzzled him again, and this time he did not shudder. "All right, then," he laughed. "So, Evelyne, want to help me find Jezabel?"

"You already have."

He blinked down at it. "I have? I mean- wait, you can _talk?_ How long have you been- that is-"

"We should be going," it continued, tossing its mane toward the archway. "This world is going to fall apart now that the puzzle has been solved, and you may be trapped in here if you dawdle."

"Through here?" he gusted, eyes still darting between the archway and his suddenly-vocal companion. "Is it really the way out? It doesn't look like anything's on the other s-"

"There isn't time."

Before he knew it, he was again being bucked onto Evelyne's back. "Whoa!" He had just enough time to clamp his hands onto its horns before it began charging toward the archway. They were halfway across the clearing when he noticed.

"What does that say?"

"Come again?"

"Above it... those strange letters, I can't read them!"

The creature laughed, and for the first time, he realised it was not male, as he'd been expecting. "It says, 'The Origin Of Webs Is Not Always The Beginning'."

"Oh." Albus nodded nervously, laying flat against the beast's back. Then he sat up again. "Wait! If that's all it says, how do we know it's really the-!"

_END Chapter Thirty-Nine_


	40. Greenhouse Of Horrors

_"-EXIT?"_

Smooth sheets were under his palms when he awoke this time, not sand or water or anything sticky. His head swam as he blinked around, and he squeezed his eyes shut again.

"Don't rush," Professor Peele soothed. "No one should be expected to recover from that so quickly."

"Urgh," Albus moaned, laying back down on the hospital bed. "Did anyone get the number of that wildebeest?"

"Wilde _what?"_ Longbottom's voice. "Son, I think perhaps you really should get some rest, now. A well-deserved one, at that!"

"Yeah, you were brilliant, mate!" Rose. "We could almost _see_ your brain working furiously!"

"Mmmh," he mumbled, nodding vaguely. Then he propped himself up on his elbow excitedly. "Hang on - d'you mean it? Did it work?"

"Fantastically," laughed Dryden, beaming down at him with a fierce pride he'd never seen in the teacher's face. "My boy, I knew I could get you in and out without a worry, but for you to have bested the Mentacles all on your own - and so quickly!"

"Quickly? How long was I under?"

"About twenty-six minutes," said Madam Pomfrey, pouring a wealthy gulp of sleeping potion into his mouth before he realised what she was doing. "And I'll thank you all not to do things like that to my patients from now on if you can resist the temptation!"

The strains of laughter washed over Albus has he fell back into the pillows, quickly sinking into oblivion. Seconds before he did, he felt a hand on his chest, and a voice thick with emotion whispered into his ear.

"I can't begin to - oh, thank you, Albus, thank you so much, I'll never forget this! Never! I promise!"

o o o

The sun was much lower in the sky the next time Albus opened his eyes. Nearly all of Sunday had passed without him - what was happening in the castle, where was Jezabel? But the old matron had other ideas, and would not let him go until she confirmed that no lasting damage had been done to his mind while adventuring in someone else's. Twilight had fallen before she was satisfied, and he immediately set out to find a familiar face. Rose only happened to be the first he came to.

"There you are, Al!" she piped up, grinning from ear to ear and causing her monocle to glint in the light from the Gryffindor fireplace. "Had a good siesta?"

"Ha ha. What's going on, where is everyone, where's Jezabel?"

She laughed at his anxiety. "Calm down, calm down. She said she fancied a walk. Anyway, aren't you going to have a bit of supper first... or at least take off that stupid hair, now?"

"Oh-" In his haste to escape the hospital wing, he hadn't realised Rose's hair was still tied around his finger. He pulled at the loop and it became unravelled - and before he could stop himself, their heads collided.

 _"OUCH!"_ his cousin shouted, holding her freely-bleeding nose. "Wh-what was that for?"

"Sorry!" he moaned. "That must be what happens if you activate the spell when standing right next to the other end!"

"Must be," she growled, waving her wand at it, muttering _"Episkey"_ and causing it to dry up. "Now I've the stains to prove it."

He frowned at her, trying not to laugh as Rose checked her shirt for nonexistent bloodstains. "I am sorry. At least it's comforting to know Dryden's not so barmy that I was working without a safety net in there."

"Fine, fine. Now, about that supper... want to finally make use of our knowledge of where the kitchens are located?"

As it turned out, the Hogwarts house-elves were twice as accommodating as they had been told, and it didn't take long before Albus and Rose's stomachs were bulging with mince pies, pullets and fresh fruit. They were laughing and chattering away as they made their way up from the kitchens, both clutching a few pasties and a bottle of butterbeer apiece.

"Really - you, decked out like some kind of Roman warrior?" she laughed. "That's a sight I'd give a Galleon to see!"

"Oh, shut up. I just wish I'd found Jezabel in there."

Rose now looked confused. "So then... you don't think that was her? The blonde harlot, I mean."

"Somehow, I doubt it," he said flatly, taking a thoughtful swig. "It sounded more like that was the Mentacles - you know, giving me the final test before I solved its puzzle once and for all. Maybe I didn't need to actually meet Jezabel to save her, maybe winning Bellatrix's little game was good enough?"

"Could be, Al... could very well be."

"Or maybe the archway was supposed to represent her, metaphorically? Maybe by passing through it I reached the 'goal' of her mind, and she was able to-"

"Al... d'you see that?"

Blinking at the sudden interruption, he turned to the window Rose was indicating and peered out across the darkened grounds. "The Forest. Lovely. Glad to know they haven't burned it down while I was asleep."

"Big lunkhead," she hissed, pointing again. "That fluttery bit, right?"

Albus couldn't believe it; not because Rose had been wrong, but because it was so unlike her these days. Nevertheless, he was forced to admit Jezabel had reconsidered and returned to Headmaster Snape's final resting place on the edge of the lake.

"Why is she there again?"

"Guess her walk is over," said Rose, patting Al on the shoulder. "I won't wait up."

"Eh?"

Her tone was unmistakably mocking. "You _are_ going down there to talk to her, aren't you? Funny, but you never seem to understand that I have known you for our entire lives."

"Why don't you run along and enjoy another episode of 'The Ryan Macmillan Comedy Hour'? He probably misses you."

Both cousins were surprised and embarrassed that they stuck their tongues out at each other in perfect harmony.

o o o

"This seat taken?"

Albus had known she would jump when he approached, but the wand sparks flying at him were unexpected. _"WHOA!"_

"Oh, heavens!" she panted, reaching a hesitant hand toward him. "Did I- did I burn you?"

"No," he laughed, smoothing his hair out. "No, just startled me, that's all."

"Okay," she sighed, smiling at him as she moved over a few inches. "And to answer your question, I don't think you can reserve seats atop a tomb."

Albus grinned and hopped up beside her. "Thanks, then. Pasty?"

"Oh... er, thank you." She took a small bite. "Mmm... wow, apparently I'm famished, I hadn't noticed."

"You can have these, too, then. I just ate half the castle."

"Thanks." She'd scarcely taken another bite when her head jerked up. "And thank you! Oh yes, yes, I was going to thank you for earlier the first chance I found, but I forgot, so-"

"Easy," he chuckled. "Don't give yourself a hernia over it. Besides, it was my pleasure. How many chances does a wizard get to have a look around inside somebody's entire brain?"

It was hard to tell by moonlight, but he thought Jezabel began to blush. "Yes, I- I felt you. Saw you in there. It was... well, I'm not sure how to describe the feeling of having three minds living in one head."

"Three?"

"Myself, you, and... and the Mentacles," she said softly. "That's what the teachers told me they were after you awakened me, and it certainly sounds like everything I've ever read about them. But the latticework of the mind trap, all it contained, almost felt like its own consciousness. You first entered my mind working through the fringes - that's when I felt you the strongest."

"Hmm." He took the last swig of his butterbeer and let the bottle roll from his fingers and onto the grass. "I really wished I could have found you in there, let you know I was doing my best."

"Me too! I wanted to talk to you, wanted to warn you to escape, but then you were slipping into the puzzle, and... and it became harder to communicate with you. I couldn't up until you had already solved it, and by then what help could I have possibly been?"

"You communicated with me? Wait..." His eyes squeezed shut as he considered the possibilities. "That blurb on the archway, just before that animal and I fled! Was that you trying to give me a message?"

"The archway? Oh, Albus." When his gaze went back to her, he could see it was wavering between pity and amusement. "You still didn't figure it out?"

"The animal... _oh no!"_ He sat up straight. "Jezabel, nothing came back out with me, did it? It's kind of vicious-looking, what if Mr Peele or someone killed it before I could- I was going to make sure it survived, and this is-"

"Albus!" she laughed. "It's okay, that animal is fine!"

He blinked. "Really? It's real? What happened, where is it now?"

And though it bewildered him, she now looked a bit sad. "Right in front of you."

"What? Right in- oh. _NO!"_ His eyes drew wide from shock at finally piecing it together. "It was _you_ the whole time? That's impossible! All along I was trying to find you, and- cripes."

She had just begun twisting a strand of hair around a thin finger, but stopped when his tone of voice changed so abruptly. "Hmm?"

"I... I'm sorry I stabbed you," he whispered, feeling quite sick as he relived that moment in his mind. "Merlin, I can't believe I hurt you like that! Jezabel, I am so very, very-"

"Stop that. You did what you thought was right at the time - defending a herd of graceful creatures from an anathema of unimaginable horror. I'm sure I'd have done the same on instinct."

Both fell silent for a time, staring out at the lake. The murky waters hid many secrets - legends as twisted and confusing as what he had endured inside the Mentacles. Finally, just before he decided to apologise again for good measure, she spoke up. "You saved me from my own mind. I... can't thank you enough. And before you start, I don't care how many times you stabbed me, because you came through in the end - you risked your life to project your consciousness into mine in the first place! Don't apologise - _never_ apologise for that! I owe you my life, and- and sanity!"

"But I hurt you," he said once more. "And... and I would have let you wander off and bleed to death if I hadn't just so happened to stumble upon you again. What kind of idiot am I?"

"You leapt into a game in which you didn't know the rules because you felt it was your duty," she pressed. "Others might see that as idiocy. I think your courage is unmatched."

Now his own cheeks were feeling warmer than usual. "F-fine," he stammered, rubbing his palms on the knees of his trousers. "Let's call it even, then."

"Even? Even with what? Nothing I could ever have done would compare with what-"

"Saving _my_ life - from being ended by a plummeting Slytherin! We've both saved each other's lives now, so... so let's leave it be from tonight on, okay?"

He knew immediately that she was unsure about this proposition, but they both remained deadlocked, searching the other person's eyes for hints at their mindsets. Jezabel stared down at her hands and cleared her throat modestly, bit her lip for a moment, then looked back up at him.

_"HA HA HA HA HA!"_

He stared at her for an extremely perplexed moment before he realised the laughter had not sprang from her lips - she, also, was amid some confusion. When they heard it again, their gaze shifted.

"Is that coming from near the castle?"

"Sounds like it," he said, rising to his feet. "What could-"

_"OH!"_

There was no time to think - Jezabel was secure in his arms, forehead inches from the smooth marble surface of their seat. As she pulled away to look up at him again, he staggered back until he found stability against the tomb, and held more tightly to her shoulders to help her regain her balance.

"I- I'm so sorry, I tripped, I- _OUCH!"_

"What's wrong?" he asked urgently. "Am I-"

"My ankle!" she choked, eyes screwed up against the pain. "It... what did I do to myself?"

"Oh no..." He chanced a look down, hoping against hope that he wouldn't see what he saw, but he knew before he looked. A pained smile flashed briefly across his face. "Damn, I forgot about the bottle. Jezabel, I'm really sorry, that was totally thoughtless of me to-"

"Hush, please," she said through her teeth, her own hands moving up his biceps to help him steady her. "I should have looked where I was going, avoided it - how could I have been so clumsy?"

"Don't say that about..."

A sudden chill on the night breeze went unnoticed by both of them as Albus took in the pale features of Jezabel's face, wondering why he felt so differently about it just now. Something was off... what was it? Her dark, fetching eyes began to dart between his own and the castle, indecisive. It wasn't the eyes; they had always been that way.

Then they heard the scream, and their attentions came back to the here and now.

"We have to check it out," he blurted, starting for the wood.

"Yes, that can't be- _HNNGH!"_

"Crap!" Two steps brought him back to her side. "Your ankle, right? You don't think it's-"

"No, not broken," she gasped, gingerly putting pressure on it. _"OUCH!_ It must be sprained, though, it hurts like nothing I've... well, perhaps I have experienced much worse pain than this, but it's bad enough that I don't think I can walk. You go on ahead."

Albus gaped at her. "Leave you behind? No, ma'am, that's not an option - not when people are screaming out here! I'll... well, I'll carry you again, wasn't so hard last time."

Unfortunately, as Albus deduced while racing through the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, this was not like last time. In the castle, he had been going downstairs a lot, racing through wide open corridors of smooth stone. Here, he was on consistently level ground, dodging branches, brush and gnarled roots at every turn. By the time they emerged, he was shining with sweat and his friend had somehow Transfigured herself into pure lead, but he refused to put her down and admit that he wasn't as athletic as he'd believed himself to be.

"What's that light?" she whispered into his ear. As he looked on, a few panes in Greenhouse Two lit up, and he heard another cackle. "That voice, it seems so... so-"

_"ALBUS POTTER!"_

The chilly breeze seemed to find him again, invading every vein and artery. Whoever had gone completely crackers was interested in he and he only.

"Jezabel, I need you to try and walk."

She drew back slightly to get a better look at him, long hair whipping into his face from the wind. "What are you thinking?"

"I need you to go to Longbottom's office, or- or Dryden's, or someone. Let a teacher know what's going on."

"No."

"You have to, we have to get some help."

"Yes, _we_ do." Her lip was trembling, but her eyes had become emboldened. "I'm not letting you go in there and- and sacrifice yourself to whoever's in there! What if it's the madman attacking the students?"

"Sounded more like a woman to me. Anyway, there's no point arguing - we have to take action, I can find out who it is!"

"Albus, p-please, let's just go inside, you can't-"

"I'm not going to throw my life away if I can help it," he said quietly, setting her down on the grass with the greatest care. "Maybe I can, I dunno... reason with her? Talk her out of it? Either way, one of us has to stay and one of us has to go, and you're not exactly in dueling condition."

"Why do you have to stay at all?"

He shrugged, drawing his wand and ignoring her frightened whimper. "Because... because whoever it is called me by name. It's got to be me, at least this time, it does. Please go."

Hours crept by in the span of the next few seconds. For one brief instant, he felt her fingernails cutting into his arm as she willed him to see reason, silently hoped he would reconsider his foolhardy plan. Then he was watching her hobble off toward the front doors, tresses billowing behind her.

_"ALBUS! ALBUS POTTER!"_

His breath fogged the doors of the greenhouse; he really had been exerting himself. Wand held lightly between his fingers, he reached out and opened the door.

"Well, well, well," came a high, nasty voice from the other side of the large, musty room. He did not close the door behind him, but left it open a crack. "You decided to pay us a visit after all, you worthless, putrid little toad! 'Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the fly'!"

"Awfully corny thing to say," he shouted, ducking behind a thick sapling he knew to produce fruits that caused one's chin to sprout peat moss when eaten. "Next time, why not try something like, 'I'll get you, my pretty', or 'You haven't seen the last of-'"

 _"Shut up!"_ came the shriek, and a potted plant some five feet to his left exploded; he shielded his eyes from the falling pottery. "Don't you tell _me_ what to do, you meddling bastard! You're always there, pretending to be some great friend to the people! When have you ever been a friend to _me,_ eh? Answer me _that!_ "

"I don't even know who you are!" he shouted, wiping soil from his face. "Your voice, it's- it's so weird! What's happening to you?"

"I'll tell you what's happening."

Albus was sure his heart stopped. The voice that had been so far away moments ago was now behind him, and before he could react, hard, strong fingers clamped down on his throat.

"Power."

"Wh-what? _NO!_ No, it- it _can't_ be you, Dorika!"

Two pouty lips curled into a sinister smile as the third-year lifted him from the ground as if he were a rag doll. "Why can't it? I'm too nice, is that it? Too saintly and understanding? Yes... yes, it does make for the perfect cover. Unfortunately, you've been sniffing around rather a lot lately - making it harder and harder for me to have any fun. And you've suspected me all along, despite what you said, haven't you?"

"I..." This was all too much. Perhaps he'd entertained the theory once or twice, but to actually find out firsthand that Dorika Dunsmore was the one trying to kill off the students? "I considered it," he gasped, feeling the moonlight begin to dim as her absurdly firm grip tightened around his neck. "But... but I... you..."

"That's right," she whispered, pink eyes blazing as she brought him nearer to a huge, dung-filled planter. "It will all be over soon. When you lose consciousness, I'll put you in here where you will slowly suffocate to death. A good time had by all, wouldn't you agree?"

"N... no, you c-can't..."

_"And you won't!"_

In the next moment, his attacker released him as she screamed in pain, backing up against another shelf full of gardening tools. Albus sank to the floor, taking great gulps of sweet oxygen as the world continued to distort all around him, blood rushing in his ears as it struggled to reach his brain. Once his head felt like it was on straight again, he looked up and caught the last of a heated conversation.

"...never find it!" Dunsmore was saying. "And as for you, I'll never forgive you for my arm, and for interrupting my revenge on Potter!"

"I'd like to see you tr-"

_"AVADA KED- KEDAVRA!"_

The green light that erupted before him drove all fog from Albus's brain, and he immediately bolted to his feet, willing with every membrane of his form to prevent that light from reaching its target, but he was too late - the figure by the door of the greenhouse flew backward, shattering a glass pane as it toppled out of sight.

"Nn... no," Dorika gasped, and Albus was confused by her tone of voice. It sounded more and more unreal, like overlapping wireless stations. "No, what's... what's happening, where am I? _YOU MUST SUCCUMB!_ What... G-get out! _Get out of me!"_

She fell straight into him, and in the fraction of a second before the back of his head connected with the floor, he saw a white mass streaking from Dorika's back and toward the starry ceiling. After that came nothing but darkness.

_END Chapter Forty_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Lyd² for her continuing readership, and also to Alactricity: my goal has always been to write the best fic I can, regardless of whether or not others have used the same plot bunnies. Regrettably, this is my first genfic (all my others have a somewhat AU and-or slashy slant), but I've been riding myself awful hard to stick to canon and not let fanon run rampant. So I'm sure I've "reused" things other writers have, simply because it's an obvious conclusion to draw from preexisting facts. Logically, most of my "original characters" are children of Harry's classmates, whom would have probably followed the war by producing many offspring. Things like Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas having a beautiful mixed-race marriage are my own flights of fancy based upon the events of Deathly Hallows... and though I know JK says Luna marries some other bloke I can't be bothered to remember about, she never mentioned it in any book, so I feel no obligation to entertain this notion. At this point, I'm simply babbling, so I'll close and bid you adieu until chapter 41!


	41. Mothers And Fathers

_"-EXIT?"_

Sheets wrinkled beneath Albus's fingers when he awoke, not dirt or cold stone or anything sticky. His head pounded as he blinked around, and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the painful light.

"Don't push," Madam Pomfrey commanded. "You may have a concussion, it's unwise to exert yourself just now."

"Mmh," he groaned, laying back. "Did anyone get the number of that wildebeest?"

"Wildebeest?" Was that Rose? "Still dreaming about those, are you? The more things change..."

"Oh, thank Merlin you're alive!" That had to be Jezabel. "I- I was so scared, I didn't know what I was going to do if- if- and-"

"'Sokay," he grunted. An instant later, he was sitting bolt upright. "No - Dorika! It's Dorika Dunsmore, she was trying to murder me, I-"

"Relax," sighed Rose, and a hand was suddenly atop his own. As the room came into better focus, he could see the outline of her flaming locks again, though her features remained indistinct; only the monocle stood out. "They've got Dorika. Being held in Professor Abbott's office right now, and Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley are in there with them. They've sent for the law, you know!"

"And... and she killed somebody else!" His heart sank through his stomach as he gripped Rose's hand, never wishing more strongly that his memory would fail him. "There's... there's a dead-"

 _"Ow!_ Stop it, Al!" Rose jerked her hand away. "Grinding my phalanges to dust won't fix anything!"

"But... but who was it? Who's dead?"

"Um..."

He spun to face Jezabel, and his vision cleared enough to see twin streaks running down her cheeks. "I- I went to get Longbottom, as I thought our Head of House made more sense at the time, and- but I must have left the front doors ajar, and P-Professor Peele saw them, and- and she went to investigate, and then- then-"

It was too much for any of them. Albus glanced desperately between their ashen faces, hoping there was some mistake, but found no comfort. "That's... I don't believe it. Dead? Th-that can't be true!"

"I'm glad you feel that way, son," said a toneless voice from far away. "Because it isn't."

He suddenly felt as if he had not woken yet. "C-come again?"

"Not yet, anyway." Now Matthias Peele was striding across the room, and Albus could see him properly. There were great bags under his eyes, and his clothes were mismatched and rumpled. "It appears that the Killing Curse used on m-my wife was not as powerful as it might have been, and as such, has only brought her very near the brink. However, she's not far. It's touch and go right now."

"Wh-where is she?" Albus babbled madly, throwing the covers from his bed and causing both Rose and Jezabel to gasp at his sudden movement. "Can we see her, I owe her so-"

"Calm yourself, my boy," he soothed, pushing him back into the pillow with his own shaking hands. "She is at St Mungo's, of course - a patient that close to death from a substandard Killing Curse should have as many trained Healers on hand as we can assemble. In fact, I really should be there to hear if there's any change, but I wanted to stop in and see if you and Miss Skirrow had recovered."

"We're all right, sir" said Jezabel at once. "Go and be with your wife."

He spared her a warm smile that did not take away from the dread radiating from him. "Make sure you all get some rest." He patted Albus's arm before sweeping from the hospital wing.

"Blast," he spat once the three of them were alone again. "What is wrong with this stupid place?"

"Take it easy, Al," soothed Rose, frowning concernedly at him. He could now see odd patterns in her cheeks from where she had slept against a spare pillow while sitting up by his bedside. "Pomfrey says you took a rough whack to the back of the head, we don't-"

"Take it easy?" Logically, his cousin's words should have made him feel better, but now they somehow infuriated him. "Rosie, whoever's been causing all this is still out there, and they just tried to kill me! How am I supposed to just sit back and relax?"

"But you caught them! You and- and Peele, together, you showed Dunsmore who's-"

_"It's NOT Dorika!"_

Now both Rose and Jezabel were all ears. "W-what?" squeaked the latter.

"Okay. Right before Dorika fell on top of me and I hit my head, she acted like she was really struggling - like she was fighting off a boa constrictor coiling around her or something. Then this big white thing flew out of her and up toward the castle!"

Rose's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

"And before that, even; the whole time we were squaring off, her eyes were glowing pink! Don't you see? It's just another trick - another cowardly attack by a cowardly git who's so chickenhearted he can't even face his enemies in person!"

"Just so we're all on the same page, then," began Jezabel in quiet, trepidatious tones. "You're saying Miss Dunsmore only did all this because she was... er-"

"Possessed," breathed Rose.

Albus felt nearly intoxicated, both from his brush with death and his excitement at eliminating another suspect on the list. "It all fits, doesn't it? Peele should have been killed instantly by the Unforgivable Curse, but it didn't quite work - because Dorika was fighting back against the spirit! It was all some kind of ghastly puppet show!"

Rose was thunderstruck. "Whoa... I'll be a clabbert's uncle, that's brilliant!"

He turned on her, expression livid. "Brilliant? I almost _died!_ "

"Er, well, in a psychotic, in-need-of-serious-incarceration way, obviously," she amended hastily, shrinking from his glare.

"Oh, I knew I shouldn't have gone for help," Jezabel wailed. "I left you all alone to d-die, how could-"

"Stop that right now," he told her firmly. "You did what I asked because the plan made sense to you, too, didn't you? There's no way either of us could know what was going to happen next." Jezabel appeared very close to a fit of blubbering. What they needed now was a change of subject. "And on that, how's your ankle?"

"My- oh. Oh, that's good as new, don't worry; Madam Pomfrey restored it in seconds."

"And... how's your nose?"

Both girls looked at him questioningly, but as Jezabel cocked her head to one side as if determining whether or not he was feeling well, Rose also noticed what he had the night previous. "Oh, wow! That's so odd, why didn't I catch that?"

"What, what?" she gasped frantically, feeling along her nose. "D-did I scrape it? Oh, I've got a horrible bruise, or else a long gash, and- but I don't feel- what's wrong with it?"

"Take a gander," laughed Rose, holding up a small mirror from within the depths of her schoolbag. Jezabel regarded it warily for a moment before holding it up to her face.

"Good Lord." Her long, slender fingers began to trace the spot where the bump had once resided on the bridge, but it had faded without trace, leaving her with a finely-shaped beak instead. She turned slightly to make sure it wasn't some sort of optical illusion. "But where has it gone?"

"Dunno," said Albus. "But last night I noticed it, I just couldn't quite place what was different until today."

"Oh!" exclaimed Rose. "That's where the Mentacles were before Bellatrix activated them!"

"What? Don't be stupid, you can't store-"

"No, listen! Remember what her mum said about not expecting the bump to really be there? Then she touched it when she said the funny word before she died! And now it's gone, right?"

"Hmm," he said slowly. "It's really bizarre, but you do have a point, there."

Rose beamed, causing him to smile, as well. "Of course I do!"

"My mum."

Only now that Jezabel drew attention to it did Albus realise Rose may have spoken out of turn when she called Bellatrix that. He felt he ought to try and comfort her. "Jez... she's not really your mother, you know. Not just because she gave birth to you - and we don't even have real proof of that, just the word of a murderer and an Auror who's never been straight with us from the off!"

"It's okay." Her eyes were fixed on her fingers, which intertwined with each other in random patterns. "No sense in coddling me about it; that woman, that- that Death Eater is my birthmother. I mean, I've always known my parents were more aloof with me for some reason other than that I could do magic - and then there's that. Why was I the _only_ magic child in my family? You'd think if I came along, at least one of my other siblings would have been magical."

"It doesn't always work that way with Muggle-borns," said Rose softly. "Look at Uncle Heath."

"Oh yeah," gusted Albus. "Forgot about him, we never really see him."

"Who?"

"My mum's brother," Rose informed Jezabel. "Born when she was already grown and out of the house. He's as Muggle as they come, even though his sister is such a powerful witch. Muggle-borns are real oddities, they are - though not as uncommon as Squibs, of course."

"Anyway," said Albus, "I... it's kind of an unpleasant thing to learn, but at least you know. You are glad you found out, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure," she sighed, fidgeting with the edge of his quilt. "That is, she told me so much, but... but what did I really learn? Oh, if only there were a way to talk with her longer, find out more - what was she like? Well, I know what she was like, she was a hardened criminal, but other things... what personality traits did I inherit from her? Was her wand made with unicorn hair, like mine? Did she have brown eyes like I do? I- I can't remember her eyes!"

"Jezab-"

"And why was she so evil?" she continued, her breathing slightly troubled from the sheer magnitude of information she would never be able to acquire. "What happened to make her that way, did- did the Dark Lord force her into it, or did she actually support the slaughtering of countless innocent Muggles? What kind of wizard was my father? Will I ever know who my f-father was?"

"Jezabel, it's okay!" said Albus, alarmed at her sudden breakdown. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Albus, I don't know wh-what I'm doing here," she sobbed. "If my mother is Bellatrix Lestrange, my father could be anybody else just as awful - it could be Lord Voldemort himself! Hellspawn like that should never be allowed in the presence of other wizard folk - it should be exterminated straight away!"

_"SHUT UP!"_

Perhaps if Albus had not been tucked in so very tightly, he could have prevented Rose from racing around the end of his bed and slapping Jezabel across the face. As it was, all he could do was shout, _"Rose, what in the bloody hell are you-"_

"Don't you _dare_ talk that way about yourself!" she screamed, a fire blazing in her that had been so dormant the past few months. "We'd care a lot more if you went and leapt off a precipice than who your sodding father was, so if you're thinking about doing that, you'd just better come up with another plan because both Al and I have exceptionally good racing brooms and we're fully prepared to dive in after you, got it? _So shut your trap!"_

The hospital wing was deadly silent for one long, excruciating moment. Albus would rather the silence had been broken by an apology from Rose, but someone else beat her to it.

"What on earth is the matter with you two?" snapped an incensed Madam Pomfrey. "Bellowing like banshees loud enough for all of Europe to listen in, and among sick people! Have you lost what passes for your minds?"

"You don't understand," growled Jezabel, as if there had been no interruption; only the redness of her cheek and the fresh tears marked Rose's rash actions. "All along I've suspected there was this great darkness within me, that everyone has accurately perceived and shunned me for, and now I find out they're absolutely right? I feel... dirty, dirtier than I ever have."

"Maybe if you'd take a bath now and again, you wouldn't feel that way," Rose shot back through gritted teeth.

"Rose, that's enough. You should apologise to her right now."

"Al, she's just sitting around feeling sorry for herself! How can you tell _me_ to apologise when she's the one who practically threatened to suicide right in front of you? There's been enough tragedy this school year to last us for ages, and she wants to snuff herself! Doesn't she even care that we'll be devastated if she goes and does a stupid thing like that?"

All at once, Albus knew Rose was right in her own brash way. The tears now rolling down his cousin's face also lent her more credibility, and he had to strain to catch the following words. "I know I would be."

"Don't say things like that," Jezabel sobbed, drawing her knees up under her chin. "I... I didn't mean it like that, I would never do anything to hurt either of you! But what if s-suddenly the mannerisms my mother passed down kick in, and I hurt someone? What then?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," said Albus with some difficulty; his throat was rather constricted. "I'd rather you go to the same school with us up until you start hexing everything with a pulse than pack you off to a padded cell. We are mates, remember? You told me we were in your room."

Jezabel hesitated for a moment, still staring down at the floor with her face resting between her knees. "Slip of the tongue."

_"Jezabel!"_

"All right, already," she gusted, looking up at him through bleary eyes. "I'm under a lot of stress here!"

When Rose began laughing, she snorted at the humour in her own statement before leaping up to pull both he and Rose into a crushing hug. It was the first time he could remember Jezabel initiating any kind of physical contact with them, and he welcomed it warmly.

"I apologise," she sniffled into his chest. "F-for threatening to harm myself, I d-didn't mean it to sound that way. I'm just very, very confused by everything that's been happening to me this year!"

"Aren't we all," said Rose. "But we'll sort it eventually. And even if we don't, we won't give up until we know we're really beat, and then we can say we did our best, yeah?"

Albus grinned, ending with a mouthful of Rose's hair for his trouble. "Exactly."

"If you three are through sharing and caring, d'you mind a few extra visitors?"

"Shut up, James," laughed Albus automatically as the three of them leaned back, drying their eyes (Jezabel had to wipe quite a bit of her face to get rid of all her accumulated tears). "Way to spoil a mom- mom- _Mum, Dad!_ "

It took several minutes for everyone to stop bubbling over with excitement at the arrival of the Potter parents at Hogwarts, but eventually they settled into chairs and began talking in earnest. Apparently, the Headmistress had sent an owl along to notify them that Albus had nearly been murdered by a fellow student, and they came via the Floo Network to see how well he was recovering. When Albus asked hopefully whether or not he could get out of O.W.L.s because of it, they deflated his hopes immediately.

"I was right in the midst of a war on Voldemort when I took mine," his father chuckled. "Did I get time off? No, sir! In fact, as we were taking our Astronomy practical I had to watch a unit of Aurors try and capture Hagrid in the dead of night!"

"No!" gasped Rose, settling in for a good story. He could also see the excitement shining in Lily's cheeks.

"You bet I did," he said, a gleam showing behind his spectacles. "Dozens of them, firing Stunners all over the lawns! And they didn't even allow us to retake the exam, we just had to fill in as many moons as we could before-"

"Will you stop filling their heads with all that rubbish?" sighed his mother. "Talking like they'll have to worry about boggarts gobbling them up while scratching out their History of Magic essays."

The grin did not fade. "Maybe not boggarts, but I seem to recall having a particularly important vision while sitting mine."

"Yes, you did!" she exclaimed, smacking him affectionately on the arm. "And it nearly got the lot of us served up on a platter to You-Know-Who by Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange and a dozen of their cohorts! Nevermind that Ron ended up with a brain wrapped around his-"

"Oh?"

Albus had also flinched, and hearing that from Jezabel he knew it was almost certain to be for the same reason. "Something the matter, dear?" asked Ginny, brow furrowed.

"N-nothing," she murmured, alarmed to have the attention shifted in her direction. Albus's mother nodded, but her concerned expression remained in place.

"I say," their father began suddenly. "Would that happen to be this cursed monocle I've been hearing so much about?"

"Yeah," grumbled Rose. "It's a pain in the arse if ever there were one, but nothing can be done."

"Maybe not, but I have an idea. Granted, there's no guarantee this will make a bit of difference, but, well..."

Albus looked on in bemused silence as Harry reached across to where Rose was sitting, jabbed the sharp end of a ripe carrot between the monocle and her squinting left eye, and pulled outward. He nearly fell out of his bed when the lens popped free, landing lightly atop the sheets.

"Wh-what?" she gasped, feeling her face. "That was- how in- holy hippogriffs, I'm _free!"_

"Ha ha, I knew it!" he crowed as Rose broke down in exhilarated laughter. "Somehow I knew he'd be right even before I tried it, he always is!"

"Who, Dad?" asked Lily, reaching for the monocle. Their mother slapped her fingers away.

"Dumbledore," he sighed, slipping the carrot back into his pocket. "Uncle Ron and I were walking through the house discussing it, hoping we might come up with something nobody had tried yet, and his portrait overheard us and decided to make a suggestion."

"Leave it to a mad old coot like him to suggest using common vegetables to break a curse," muttered James, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't care if you sprayed me with cat vomit, as long as it got the damn thing off!" Rose grabbed the mirror Jezabel had used to examine the missing bump. "Oi! Looks like I've been using one of Uncle George's telescopes!"

o o o

"So Dumbledore's portrait didn't have any ideas about how to get Ryan out of the lens itself?"

"Not anything I can handle with a carrot," Albus's father told him grudgingly, shoving his hands into his pockets as they paced across the mid-afternoon Hogwarts lawns. Albus pretended not to notice the other kids watching them with great interest, amazed that the world-famous champion of the people had returned to his alma mater for no reason other than to check on his son's poor bumped head. "Headmistress Sprout will be handing the monocle over to the Ministry tonight; it was a touchy thing to disrupt Rose's normal routine and lock her away in the Department Of Mysteries for a battery of tests, but with her taken out of the equation they can experiment more directly with it. I'm sure they'll come up with a solution much faster, now."

"That's good, then."

A moment passed with them walking down the gently sloping lawns toward the lake. "Al, I've been wanting to ask you about that ghost epidemic. The developments of late, like the attack from Dorika. Did you suspect her before?"

"To be honest, I did," said Albus, kicking a stone. "But... Dad, I don't think she did it."

"What? How can you-"

"Before I was knocked out, I saw something that looked like a ghost leaving her body. What if the _real_ ghost manipulator just told one of their ghosts to possess her to throw me off the scent, to... to set up a decoy?"

"You mean a patsy," he muttered, nodding. "A sound plan, if that's indeed what's happened here. Now no one will be watching out for the perpetrator because they think they've cracked the case already. My second year all over again."

"I think it's Professor Dryden," he said quietly, as if worrying the Potions Master would spring up from the grass beneath their feet. "He's the only other person who's been acting suspiciously, but then again... he helped me wake Jezabel up. I just can't ever be sure about him."

Harry shrugged. "Could be him. It could be the ghost itself is manipulating other ghosts, son. That's the problem with mysteries - they're rarely solved before the attacker reveals themselves voluntarily, which is almost always too late. It's probably the most annoying thing on the planet."

"What do I do, Dad? Should we tell the teachers, let them know the killer might still be running loose? I mean, especially if Dorika's innocent!"

"Hmm... I don't know. As often as your Aunt and Uncle and I told the teachers what we thought, they ignored us entirely."

"Coming from you _now,_ though-"

"No, no," he laughed. "Based solely on your speculation? I believe you've got facts worth considering, but they'd only think I'd gone mad... or was feeling nostalgic about my own schoolday heroics. Best just to keep an eye out yourself - though I believe I could tell old Neville, he remembers what it was really like..."

And they had reached it. Instinct told him his father was leading them toward this spot, but he was no more pleased to be standing in front of the cold white tomb than if he'd been blissfully ignorant.

"Dumbledore would remember, too," his father said quietly, smiling a sad smile. "He'd have listened - one of the few staff that would. Oh, the rest try, they earnestly do, but... they just never had the patience to see things from other people's perspectives. Not like he did."

"Dad-"

"Sorry to get all drippy on you like this," he chuckled quietly. "I know you never liked coming down here. The name thing and all."

"Yeah." Albus smiled awkwardly. "It's... kind of creepy. Does that make me insensitive or something?"

"Nah. Ron and Hermione tell me Rose gets the same way when they visit Tonks's grave."

He looked up. "She does? Blimey, she never told me that..."

"Can't say I'm surprised. It's hard to tell somebody you feel anything but sadness and regret when you're talking about the dearly departed. Doesn't mean it's wrong, though."

Albus squirmed for a moment. Did he dare? In the end, he decided he might not have opportunity to discuss this with someone outside the school for well over a month, and it wasn't really the kind of post he could send out with Dobby. "Dad... I wonder if I could talk to you about something, and you would promise - _promise_ not to mention it to anybody else, not even Mum."

An eyebrow raised. "You're not thinking of eloping with Rose again, are you? It was bad enough when you were four, but these days I think-"

" _Dad!_ " Albus waited for his father to stop guffawing before he continued. "Come off it, this is serious, and I need some real advice!"

"Okay, okay," Harry chortled, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes. "What's on your mind?"

"Right. Er... you obviously know Rose and I went with Jezabel to visit Azkaban prison, right? Well, Jezabel found out something pretty unsettling when she got there..."

_END Chapter Forty-One_


	42. The Room of Charred Skeletons

Paranoia settled over Albus Potter following his brush with being buried alive in Greenhouse Two. Now that the alleged ghost-manipulating serial killer had been whisked away to Azkaban, the students were more at ease, Fane the exorcist left for parts unknown, and Professor Binns was reinstated. Albus was almost positive that at any moment another scream would ring through the corridors, and a body would turn up at the foot of a staircase or bobbing in the lake.

Fortunately for everyone, nothing of the kind happened. The rest of May slipped by in relative peace, serenely uneventful and free of all cares. This was not strictly true, of course - the Quidditch practices had become nothing less than physical torture, and homework and studying seemed to suck up every last drop of free time they had between classes, practises, and trivial matters like eating and sleeping. Classmates in their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. years had begun running down to the Potions classroom to brew up entire cauldrons of the Draught Of Peace, hoping to keep themselves from leaping off the Astronomy Tower. Alas, it did not help all of them, for the poorer students invariably made the potion wrong and ended up closer to their wit's end than before.

Jezabel alone had any time to herself, which she spent pursuing the unhealthy activity of reading up on her biological mother. Both Albus and Rose told her many times that nothing good could come from acquainting herself with such sordid exploits, but she did not listen.

"What if I start trending toward some of the same pitfalls?" she protested. "I'll want to know what to expect so I can avoid them, right? I... I don't want to become a Dark witch!"

"There's about as much chance of that as Al becoming Minister for Magic," Rose laughed.

Al nodded. "Exactly. _Hey, now wait a minute!"_

As it turned out, Albus's father had been entirely correct about the Hogwarts professors; even Hagrid seemed to think they were suffering from overactive imaginations when they told him they thought Dorika might be innocent.

"I knows I'm more or less talkin' ter the wall here," he warned, pouring tea into each of their bucket-sized mugs, "but don' be goin' off half-cocked, lookin' fer villains an' thieves where there aren' any! Tha' silly Dunsmore girl got herself inter somethin' she ough' not have, and look how she ended!"

"But I saw the ghost leave her body," Albus repeated doggedly. "Why don't you think that could mean-"

"She probably let it possess her ter begin with," he said, swirling his mug around with one hand and scratching at his beard with the other. "Migh've been wha' gave her power over those other ghosts, eh? Made her able ter lift yeh up with one hand? Hones'ly, I've seen tha' wee twig, and she could no more lif' another student than you two could lif' me!"

They had to admit he made a convincing word picture.

In the absence of a Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, Barty's mother was once again dropped unceremoniously into another subject. Albus couldn't help but wonder at their luck procuring her at the beginning of the schoolyear, as there wasn't an especially long list of wizards and witches capable of handling nearly every course in the school. As it so happened, Professor Weasley had actually been quite a bit better at teaching History of Magic than the dull-as-dishwater Binns (Albus's marks had improved slightly since Belvina Hitchens's forehead was inked), but unfortunately her aptitude for Defence was not as sharp. Nevertheless, she did what she could, which was all they really required this late in the year.

It was during lunch one Wednesday that Albus heard something that infuriated him and interrupted an otherwise pleasant half-month. On his way out of the Great Hall, he heard a familiar voice off to his left from amidst a knot of cloaks.

"...always knew Dorika was trouble. How could I not? Everything, she did wrong, every other day, and never owning up to her actions! My scars are not going away!"

"Just can't let anything drop, can you?" he said over their heads.

"Who's that? Oh," Belvina sighed. "Why should you care? You're the one she tried to snuff before Professor Peele took her down."

"Sure, that's how it happened," he said, nodding casually as he leaned against the wall.

"You're saying something else happened?" asked Nora Bones, the other Hufflepuff Beater.

"I _was_ there, wasn't I? Of course something else happened. Professor Peele wasn't the one who 'took her down' - though she did manage to save my life, for which I'm grateful."

"Al," came Rose's voice from behind him. "It's not going to do any good."

"No, no, we ought to hear this," said Belvina, a smirk playing at her lips. "What really went on in the greenhouse?"

"Let it drop, Al. Come on."

He hesitated. Rose was probably right and he knew it, but it was very irksome to leave an incorrigible girl like Belvina thinking she knew what she was talking about. Then the words his father had spoken came back to him: "They'll probably think I'm mad". Speaking up would make it seem as if he were only angling for a little more adventure.

"You know what? Nevermind. Think what you like, Belvina, I'm out of here."

As they ascended the stairs, he overheard her saying, "That Potter's an awfully funny bloke, too - probably took the curse Peele intended for Dunsmore. Might have been her henchman."

"Me, Dorika's henchman?" he blustered. "If anything, it would be the other way around!"

Rose raised her eyebrows at him. "Would it? Al, you sound like a baby."

"Maybe, but it's still right annoying of her. Can you believe a Snow White clone like Dorika is probably sitting in Azkaban trying to suss what she's done wrong while a bilge rat like Belvina is allowed to hang around the school rubbishing her?"

"Psst!"

Both he and Rose looked around to find Jezabel's head poking out from behind a tapestry he knew to conceal a staircase. "Hey, what's up?" Rose asked.

"I... I wonder if I might borrow Albus for a minute? J-just a bit, I promise."

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong, I just need a moment, and, well... you said- no, nevermind."

"What did I say?" When Jezabel only squirmed more, he turned to Rose and whispered, "Catch you up later, all right?"

"Sure, take your time." With that, she continued their normal path upstairs, casting a befuddled look back down at them.

"What was it I said, Jezabel?" he asked once he'd joined her behind the tapestry.

"You probably didn't mean it," she laughed nervously. "It's okay. But... well, you once said you would be there if I needed an ear."

"Oh, yeah," he said thoughtfully, also noting they were hidden behind another tapestry then, as well. "And I did mean it. What's going on?"

"It's about my m-mother." Upon closer inspection, he thought her eyes seemed puffier than they ought to for a girl who had little to no homework left. "Still strange thinking of her that way. That is, I've been reading all these books and Daily Prophet cuttings about her Death Eater activities, to reacquaint me with who she was, and... and I've come across some horrible facts."

"Like what?"

"Like... these." The stack of clippings she handed him bore some fairly hideous headlines, but the one right on top drew his attention the second he saw it.

"'Sirius Black Murdered In Mysterious Struggle'?"

"Oh, yes," she whispered, sitting down on the edge of a step. "As it turns out, Black happened to get involved in the infamous battle yours and Rose's parents fought in the Department Of Mysteries. The name seemed familiar, and in another book I found, he was named as one of Voldemort's most notorious supporters from his early days, but he never truly returned to the fold. It's difficult to find much information about him during Voldemort's second coming."

"It's all bunk," Albus sighed. "My dad set the record straight in a lot of ways, but no big books or anything were ever published. He never supported Voldemort at all - in fact, he was one of the good guys, and... and my father's godfather."

"Oh? Oh... _NO!"_ she shouted, and Albus fought hard to keep from falling through the tapestry. "That's where I've heard the name before! Oh, Albus, my mother killed your great-godfather!"

"Shh!" he hissed, glancing back to make sure nobody was coming after them. "Man, we need a more private place to hold this conversat-"

"How can you even stand to look at me?" she wailed, staring forlornly down at a blank section of wall. "Knowing what kind of blood I come from! I thought it was bad enough when I found out about Professor Longbottom, and now this!"

"Professor Longbottom? What's he got to do-"

"The second cutting," she said with a sniffle.

His stomach quickly began to churn in discomfort as he read about how Frank and Alice Longbottom, two Aurors of rather remarkable talent, were tortured by the Cruciatus Curse until they lost all touch with reality. The article also mentioned their young son, Neville, was to be raised by his grandmother.

"Merlin, I- I knew something bad happened to them, but this lays it out so- so... wow, my dad wasn't kidding about that Cruciatus, it's not pretty."

"That was my mother, too. In Azkaban she wasn't so bad, was she? A bit cantankerous, and obviously dotty, but... but I never would have believed she was capable of all this atrocity! Do you still think it doesn't matter what my mother did?"

"There is more..."

Her eyes widened in shock. "More? Oh, I don't want to hear it, I'm not sure I can take- and we do need a more private place, don't we? Having people hear how my mother was such a disgrace to wizardkind-"

"Let's go, then." Perhaps if she felt more comfortable he would stand a better chance of consoling her. "How about the prefects' bath? Or down-"

"N-n-no," she stammered, standing nervously. "I- I'd rather not go in there again if I can help it. I... I have a place."

"Where?"

"Er... it's not much to look at, mind you. Rather hideous, in fact, but I'm sure no one will find us."

Albus noticed she was being awfully cryptic, and the fleeting glances were almost terrified. "Lead the way."

Up stairs and down hallways they went, turning this way and that, and all the while Albus pondered his situation. How do you convince someone who's just found out they escaped the womb of Voldemort's arm candy that they have worth in and of themselves, regardless of where they came from? More than that, how do you convince them that though it's fascinating to find these things out, you would still name them as a friend one way or the other?

Just as they passed a tapestry of a wizard and several trolls stumbling around in an ungainly fashion, something else came to him from the back of his mind. The reason he'd known what Bellatrix was going to tell Jezabel just before it happened. How could he have forgotten? But then he passed the same tapestry again, and surfaced from his thoughts.

"Jezabel..."

"Shh!"

He waited a moment, but she only turned around again and went in the other direction. "Jez, are you lost? The Fat Lady is back around-"

"Wait, look, there it is!"

"There what- ohh..."

For as he stared at the blank section of wall before him, a heavy door blossomed from nothing, standing proudly as if it had always been there. His eyes swept up and down the corridor, then back to the unexpected door.

"Come on," she grunted, pulling the door open and motioning him inside. "Hurry, before someone sees!" A few quick steps brought both of them inside, and the door swung shut behind them.

"You weren't kidding," he whispered. "It's... wow."

The room was the size of the world's grandest cathedral, and the ceiling as high. But instead of pews or pulpits, it was filled with piles and piles of ashes - the walls and every surface appeared horribly burned, and the stench of woodfire was thick and stale.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, walking a few paces inside. "I- I know, it's horrid, this was a mistake. We should go somewhere else to-"

"Don't worry so much," he snorted. "We didn't come here to appreciate the room for its aesthetics, we came here to talk."

"Then tell me," she said quietly, picking up the blackened, rusty remains of an old metal stool and offering it to him. "What else did you remember?"

"Well..." One hand rubbed at the nape of his own neck, as if by doing so he could gather and quash all the bits of his brain that were screaming to keep this information to himself. "I've heard my dad tell the story of the Department of Mysteries many, many times, you know. To be blunt, each time the story goes a tad differently, especially if Mum isn't there to stop him telling the gorier bits. But, well, anyway... he says Bellatrix tried to use Unforgivable Curses on them. And... she landed one. On Professor Longbottom."

"No," she breathed, sliding down and into a particularly thick pile of ashes. "And... and he didn't want us to go. He didn't want us to have to face the horrible woman who- who gave birth to me, that's what she did. Really, I can't-"

"There's more." He sighed deeply and sat down on the old stool, wishing he didn't know this stuff, but he knew he owed it to Jezabel to give her the awful, naked truth. "One day, when I was very young, we were visiting Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, and I found this little gravestone. I asked Dad who Dobby was, and... and he said he was a house-elf that used to work for the Malfoy family before they accidentally freed him. Bellatrix-"

"Please," Jezabel interrupted, shaking her head slightly. "You needn't even say she killed him. What else would she do, being the reptile she was?"

"Don't do this to yourself!" he demanded suddenly. "It's okay that your mother was an awful, demented, Muggle-torturing she-demon, because you're absolutely _nothing_ like her! If anything, you're- yeah, you're more like her sister!"

Only now did she look up at him, confused. "S-sister?"

"My Aunt Andromeda." He laughed, realising it was the first time he'd truly thought about them being sisters since Bellatrix had summoned her daughter to the prison; he supposed that's why Jezabel's facial features had always felt somewhat familiar to him. "Oh, you're going to have to meet her - she's your aunt, too! Honestly, she's everything your mum isn't: kind, reserved, thoughtful, patient... sane. My Dad's godson, Teddy, he's lived with her since he was a baby, and you couldn't ask for a better guardian!"

"Really?" For the first time since they'd begun talking, he saw Jezabel begin to smile. "Sh-she turned out all right, no murderous tendencies?"

"Not a one. And as for the Muggle-torturing, well, she married a Muggle-born for Peverell's sake!"

"That's nice," she snorted. "I... well, I still don't know about how I can live with her birthright of bloodshed, but I guess... I guess I won't give up on myself yet if you won't."

"Of course I won't," he said earnestly, bending down next to her on the floor and grasping one hand firmly between both of his. "Really, look me in the eyes - don't you forget that I'm on your side, okay? Always!"

The look she gave him held more suspicion than he'd have liked, but he could tell she was giving in little by little. "Always?"

"Yes."

Her eyes squeezed shut for a long moment, lip quivering as she took in and released a deep breath. "I... have an aunt? An aunt in your family?"

"Yeah! Hey, that makes us family, too, you know. Eighteenth cousins or something."

Now she laughed in earnest, smiling from ear to ear, and he felt as if he'd just downed a flagon of Firewhiskey; it was good to see her happy for once. "Actually, when you really stop and think about it, I'm more like your aunt; my mother was about the same age as your grandparents."

"Ahh," he said as he stood, suddenly uncomfortable. "That's... hmm, that is odd. Your mum didn't exactly rush motherhood, did she?"

"Apparently not," she giggled.

"But... but there's something else I remembered, right after Bellatrix flicked your nose and set you snoozing. We should have known all along what she wanted when you got the deathbed request."

Her eyebrows knitted. "We should have?"

"Kreacher! Remember what he said, about you being a pureblood?"

"Oh!" To his surprise, she actually slapped herself on the forehead, leaving a sooty smear from where her hand had been on the black floor. "Merlin's beard, I cannot believe that didn't occur to me! Of course, I hadn't really forgotten, it was so strange, it- but I would never have imagined the two events to be connected. I mean, who's looking for their pureblood birth parents to turn out as Death Eaters?"

"Not either of us, obviously," he mumbled. "I'm just sorry I didn't think of it, either; could have spared us a depressing visit and one hell of a ride on the Mentacles."

"How on earth did they do it?" He offered her a hand up, and after a brief hesitation she took it. "Plant the Mentacles inside me, I mean. Right after I was born, or - or did a wizard visit my house when I was young?"

"I'm more curious about why. Seriously, is she just insane, or was there a point in us trekking across that mental desert? What did she mean by it?"

"We may never know," she said quietly. "No one left to ask, now - unless Matthias Peele suddenly becomes considerably more talkative."

"Fat chance. Speaking of talkative," he began, "what exactly... er, where...?"

"Hmm? Oh, this place?" She gestured around, smiling in much the same way as she had when he'd asked her about the black marble tomb so many months ago. "I may just be the only one who knows about it, you know. It only shows up when I walk past it three times - I've counted every time. Can't fathom what its true purpose is, but... but it's quiet, and no one ever disturbs it."

"There's something over there," he muttered, nodding at a stray wooden box that had remarkably escaped the fire unscathed. "D'you see it?"

"Oh, that," she said quickly - _too_ quickly. "Nevermind that, it's just an old box."

"But everything else in here was burned to cinders. How'd that thing survive?"

"Albus-"

"You're hiding something."

"No, I-"

"Yes, yes you are," he teased. "Not got dirty magazines over there, have you?"

She frowned uncomfortably. "It's... nothing important. Please, just don't look at it, I'd rather you d-didn't."

"Jezabel!" he exclaimed, honestly caught off guard. "You... you really are hiding something? Wow, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you such a hard time about-"

"It's okay," she said quietly. Her eyes drifted between the door and the box before she looked back at his shoes. "I... well, if you really want..."

"What?"

"You could look, if you wanted." He could barely hear what she was saying now. "B-but you've seen it all before, anyway. Nothing new."

"No, that's okay," he said with a smile. "We don't have to look at it. And I promise I won't come back and sneak a peek in the dead of night or anything."

Her eyes shone oddly when she looked up at him. "Don't you... want to see it? I- I want you to."

With no forewarning, this whole conversation began to feel more than a little surreal to Albus. "Er... you _want_ me to see it?"

"I can't have you thinking that I'm guarding any more deep, dark secrets," she said, dragging him toward the mound of ash where the box rested. "You might resent me for hiding things, and th-these aren't important enough to make into a big issue."

"Seriously, it's not going to be a b- ah."

It was all the personal effects he'd seen piled on the table in the common room. So many things had happened that night; Rose had come to appreciate Jezabel's situation, Jezabel had been given a bath... and she'd come to hate him for going through her things. She'd worked past it by now, obviously, but this remained as a tribute to Albus's short-sightedness.

"This murtlap essence," she began meekly, hefting the bottle, "is for... well, you'll know what it's for, I think. Do you?"

"Minor wound care," he mumbled. "Takes the sting out. Jezabel-"

"Knew you would know," she giggled nervously. "Top marks in Potions. And this... er, it's a book of faerie tales. It sort of served as my Bible when I... well, you know. When I believed faeries were punishing me. And these are the lines I do when..."

"When what?" he coaxed gently, praying almost desperately that she would refuse to tell him.

"When I'm being tormented. See, because I'm usually tormented because I stick my neck out too far, and take too many liberties, or- I have to remind myself that it's the cause of most of my discomfort. So I write out, 'Permission is not mine-'"

"'-until I have received it,'" he finished for her bleakly. "I remember."

The smile on her lips was still very nervous, as if she were opening an art show for the very first time and was concerned that the papers would run unfavourable reviews. "You told me, back in my room - you told me I had the permission within myself, that- that I didn't always deserve what they did to me. And... I've done less lines since then, you know; only on especially bad days. It's as if I don't really need them any more."

"Really? That's wonderful!" He grinned broadly in an encouraging way, even though he still felt uncomfortable with her sharing all this with him. "I hope one day you won't need them at all."

"And... well, there's no reason you should recognise these."

He was puzzled to find a stack of Chocolate Frog cards in his hands. One of them was bent at the corner, but the others were in fairly good condition. "Of course I recognise them; they're Famous Witches And Wizards cards. I've a fair few myself."

Now she was blushing, and he wondered if he's stuck his foot in it without knowing. Then, in a voice so low he had to lean in to catch the rest, she said, "They're from the Frogs... the ones you gave me on the Express. The card on top there is the first one I opened."

For some reason as he looked down at the pieces of paper in his hands, he found his vision was misting over. Had the rank, stifling air finally got to him? Then, when he spotted the card right on top, he laughed wetly. "Ahh, yes. Famous Wizard number one hundred: Harry Potter. Y'know, he sounds vaguely familiar; maybe we studied him last term or something."

Jezabel rolled her eyes, smiling shyly. "Being an ass. Anyway, I always thought it was funny that I should end up with that exact wizard's card because his son was the first person to be kind to me since I came to Hogwarts. So, er, I kept them. Really, I wouldn't mind if I lost the other cards so much, but- but if I had lost that one..."

As Albus watched her deftly avoid meeting his gaze, cheeks filled to bursting with colour, he revisited how much this girl who pretended she hadn't wanted him for a friend had thought of him - how she had been content to admire him from afar before he forced her to open up more. From the very first time they'd spoken, she appreciated such a small gesture that he had done almost automatically, and had held onto a dime-a-dozen memento through an entire school year. It was a lot to take in.

"Jez," he began shakily, trying not to chuckle or bawl or whatever was trying to come out of his face against his will. "I... I really can't comment on how you came to be, but... but I think they ought to make a couple more of you. This world could use more considerate, decent people."

"Stop it," she tittered, staring straight down into the box. "You d-don't have to say things like that."

"Why? You calling me a liar?"

Her head jerked up. "No! No, of course not!"

"Then what I said has to be true, now, doesn't it? I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Auntie Jezabel."

Albus had just enough time to toss the cards into Jezabel's box before she bowled him over, squeezing him to pieces. "You w-were almost killed, Albus! And you're the only w- w- you're the one who g-gave me a new hope, who believed in me no matter how sc-scared or disinterested I acted! How could I have left you out there to die?"

"Don't be thick, you know that's not how I see-"

"I don't care if my leg's been chopped clean off, I'll n-never leave you in danger like that again! I swear it!"

For a moment, speech failed him. Then he grinned stupidly. "Then we'll just have to start avoiding all that pesky danger, won't we? We can start by not taking any more holidays in Azkaban."

There followed more sobbing into his shoulder, but it was joined by melodic, cleansing laughter, all pouring out at the same time. Since he couldn't think of anything else to do but sob and laugh with her, that's exactly what he did.

_END Chapter Forty-Two_


	43. Injury And Inquiry

"Mount your brooms!"

It did little to quell the fears of the Gryffindor Quidditch team that nearly every single student and staff member had turned out to watch the deciding match of the season; both teams were unnervingly close in points, and it was anybody's game. Though Ravenclaw's Chasers weren't quite the well-oiled machine of the Gryffindor team, Gryffindor were at a distinct disadvantage: one missing Beater, replaced by his less-than-capable chum, Puerilis Logan. He was the only student who hadn't managed to maim his own team members during Olivia's disastrous emergency tryouts that kept Madam Pomfrey busy for hours.

"Ready?"

Madam Chang's question felt loaded to Albus on this outing. Of course they weren't ready - they were short a player, and everyone would have felt more secure playing with just Aiden McLaggen holding a Beater's bat. His sweaty hands slipped a bit on the handle of the old Firebolt as he said a silent prayer to whomever might be listening that the Bludger would avoid Logan altogether.

"One, two-"

Too late now. The match had begun.

"Go, Albus!" several Gryffindors screamed, which made his face burn. "Give 'em hell, James!" and "Send Moran crying to his mummy!" were among the other cheers and jeers. This might have buoyed his spirits considerably if not for the equal shouts of "Gryffindors are gits!" and "Accidental Albus is a joke!"

And then there was Joseph Moran. Olivia had insisted he learn all he could about his opposite number, convinced it would give him an edge, but the longer he tried to listen to his sister gush about how "amazing" the boy was during breakfast, the more he felt drawn to stab himself in the temples. Still, no one had ever spoken a disparaging word against Moran, and that put him on edge. He would have to be in top form today.

"Welcome to the grand finale!" bellowed Martin Finnigan heartily across the stands. "That's right, it's the lions versus the eagles in a winner-take-all spectacle that will be talked about for centuries! In the Seeking position, we have the formidable seasoned veteran Joseph Moran squaring off against fan favourite and newcomer Albus Potter, whom rumour has it aided our Defence professor in ridding the school of the ghost attacks!"

"Why is he talking about that?" Albus muttered to himself as he began circling the pitch, eyes sharp and combing the ground for the telling glint. Then, without warning, he felt a sharp pain as something collided with his shoulder.

_"Ow!"_

"Sorry!" yelped Logan, frowning apologetically. "I- I was trying to dodge Tate, he was-"

"Nevermind," Albus growled, rubbing his arm. "Just get back out there and let me do my job!"

"-little traffic jam with Albus and Logan, there," Finnigan's commentary informed the crowd. "Logan, as many of you know, is sitting in for team regular Ryan Macmillan, whom has been stuck in a magical - oops! James intercepted Aubrey's pass there a moment ago, and now it's Moore passing to Wood, Wood to- NO! YES! That is, Wood fooled Lahey, and Gryffindor have got themselves on the board early!"

As the crowd roared in his ears, he nodded politely to Tranquilius Thomas when he soared overheard.

"How are you and Ouida getting along these days?" Albus laughed conversationally, but Tranky's reply was cut off by a sudden surge of cheers.

"Ladies and gents, that was one amazingly gymnastic move Wendelyne Moore pulled off there, never seen anything like it! Can a body bend like that without breaking?"

Though Albus had to admit he was curious as to just what feat Wendelyne had managed, he forced himself to remain focused on the task at hand. It's too bad he couldn't stay that way for long, however, because as Martin was saying, "James Potter with the Quaffle, and he's on fire, no one can-", the world faded away...

A figure with thick, flowing black hair dressed in an evening gown of purest pink silk was standing atop a stone dais at the end of a long hallway. Should he call out to her? She had to be warned, because the pack of rabid wildebeest were right behind him. He ran forward, cupping his hands to his lips, but he was distracted when he saw every one of his fingers was now a carrot. Then a Chocolate Frog perched itself atop his shoulder and asked, "Why aren't you wearing your monocle? It's all the rage in Azkaban."

Suddenly, his face was dripping wet. "No, I don't have time to take a shower," he said impatiently. "She has to know about the wildebeest!"

"Wake up, you!" shouted a woman's voice. Who was it, and why was she saying weird things? Then she said, " _Aguamenti!_ " and another splash of water hit him full in the face. Albus sat up too fast, and his head throbbed.

"Wh-what's- hey, where-?"

"The game is still going on," said Madam Chang, wiping the water she had conjured to revive him free with a handkerchief. "Can you stand?"

"Oh, I... I think so, maybe..."

"Oop! All right, take it slow, now - allow me."

The dense fog that had been slowly receding since the second blast of water vanished instantly when he realised one of Madam Chang's arms was around his back, and that the other hand was pulling at his own. Suddenly that breezy final weekend in May felt a lot warmer.

"Er, ah- w-where? How, that is, I- m-my broom-"

"I'm sorry," she frowned down at him, and whatever news she had to give him felt like it couldn't possibly be so bad with her beautiful lips that close. "Your broom is cracked, you won't be able to play on it. Have you got a spare, or has one of the other Gryffindors?"

"Cr- _CRACKED?"_ he shouted, chest welling up with dread as he cast his eyes around for it. There it was, lying several yards away, and he could definitely see it went off at an angle somewhere around the middle. He'd been mistaken about how bad the news was. "No, not - not my dad's Firebolt! What am I going to do?"

_TWEET!_

"The referee has called for a time out," said Finnigan as the other Gryffindors descended to form a circle around Albus and Madam Chang. "Yes, seems Albus is on his feet again, but there must be another complication! And now that we have a moment to relax, let's tally up the scores for the league this..."

"What's the problem, squirt?" panted James, cleaning the droplets of sweat from his glasses. "We're trying to make a comeback up there, you know!"

"Comeback?" Albus asked. "How... how bad is it?"

"Ninety-twenty," said Olivia, spitting into the grass inches from Logan's shoe. "No thanks to the worst Beater ever to climb onto a broomstick."

"I'm sorry, guys!" Logan bumbled, dropping his broom on accident; it knocked McLaggen in the knee, and he glared at the other Beater. "I'm not used to all the pressure of gametime, it's only my first real match, you know!"

Their captain did not seem to accept this excuse. "But you've been demolishing your own teammates! When you're not hitting Bludgers straight into Potter, here, you're missing the other team's shots and letting Weasley take one in the wrist!"

"You did this to me?" Albus breathed, rounding on the accused. "You're the reason I've been grounded, that my dad's broom is a shambles?"

"And how am I supposed to catch the Quaffle with one hand?" Rose added nastily. "You're a fine piece of work, Logan, you really are!"

"The point is," said Wendelyne tiredly before Logan could sputter another apology, "how is Albus going to play if he can't fly?"

"Take my broom," said James for the second time in their lives. "I'll grab a school broom to play on, or-"

"Can't we fix it?" insisted Albus, not at all keen for their star Chaser to putter along on an ancient Nimbus Two-Thousand-One. "Some Spellotape, or-"

"No time," said Madam Chang. "I'm not letting you go up on a broom we're not sure will hold itself together."

"Oi, you lot!"

Albus could only truly speak for himself, but he had a feeling the rest of the team was equally shocked to see Monica Grey racing across the pitch, brown ringlets bouncing in the breeze and wand hand conspicuously over her shoulder. "Hey! Hey, Madam Chang!"

"What's this about, Monica?" she asked once the diminutive girl had arrived by their huddle. "You shouldn't be on the field during-"

"Albus Potter's broom is broken, isn't it? He can use mine!"

"I- I can?" he stammered. "Why? Crap, I mean- thank you, thank you so much, but I don't understand. Why help us?"

She leaned in so only he and the referee could hear, close-set eyes narrowing. "It's that obnoxious Belvina - _ooh,_ she gets my mad up! I only suggested one of us could lend you a broom, and she started shouting and cursing at me, calling me the most awful names! She's always doing things like that, and - well, I am sick to death of it, and if lending you my broom will twist her knickers, then that's just what I'm going to do!"

Despite the strained situation they found themselves in, Albus had to laugh. That was the entire reason? But what he said was, "In that case, it's my duty to help you make that cow's head explode!"

As she flashed him a darkly satisfied grin, he saw it - a gleaming Nimbus Two-Thousand-Thirty flying over the edge of the stands like the cavalry coming to bail them out of a bloody battle. Apparently Monica had already Summoned it before coming to discuss it with the Gryffindors.

"Try not to get mine broken, too," she breathed as Albus caught it. Then, after glancing over her shoulder at where Belvina was sitting in the stands, visibly jumping up and down with rage, she gave Albus a showy peck on the cheek. "Good luck!"

"Er, ah, I- y-yeah!"

"When you're done panting and carrying on," said Wood through her teeth as the Hufflepuff returned to the stands, "let's thank our lucky stars we've all got brooms and get back up in the air, shall we?"

"Hang on, Al," said James, and before he could protest, he'd exchanged brooms. "And this your last chance for a trade, so you'd better take me up on it this time, all right? Our Seeker needs the better broom."

 _"Fine!"_ Olivia answered for him. "We're ready, Madam Chang!"

With great care, Albus mounted the Firebolt The Third and felt it vibrating beneath him, as if eager to show its new rider all it was capable of. Very soon, it had that chance.

The moment time was called in, Albus felt the entire world stand still as he cut through the air at blinding speed, eyes watering and hair feeling as if it would rip from his scalp. How had they managed to coax this much speed from a racing broom? His heart thumped wildly, and he felt himself slipping backward for a moment before he redoubled his grip on the smooth handle.

"Back to business, then, with an unexpected leg up from the Hufflepuff Seeker!" said Finnigan from his spot in the stands. "Heavens to Betsy, will you get a load of her teammate, Belvina Hitchens? Goodness, that was a rosette hurtling down at Grey - she is not at all pleased! But wait - it's James Potter on Monica's Nimbus, and he's already readjusted to the difference in speed and balance! This is the stuff Quidditch stars are made of! Moore passes to James, he drops it down to Wood, now to James - IT'S IN! Gryffindor clawing their way to a comeback as it's ninety-thirty here at Hogwarts!"

It was perfectly still in midair halfway across the pitch: the Golden Snitch. And Joseph Moran was closer to it than he was, but looking in the wrong direction. Would he ever know it was there? But the very moment Albus poured on a burst of speed, angling directly for the tiny, glittering ball, his opponent saw him coming.

"Hang on, is- is it- yes, it appears Albus sees something! Is it the Snitch?"

What started as a race to the Snitch instantly became a game of chicken. The Snitch slowly drew closer as Moran's face expanded at an alarming rate; if they both kept at it, they would crash, the prize trapped between their mingled, mangled bodies. What should he do?

"Merlin's pants, they're going to fly straight down each other's throats!"

Then, when there were only a few scant yards left and Albus was stretching out his hand, he saw something that made his heart leap, something he wasn't expecting - Moran swerved. What was he playing at? But it was unimportant; the minuscule delay in his approach cost Ravenclaw the day.

"Has he- has he got- YES! Albus has the Snitch! Faith and begorrah, they've beaten Ravenclaw back and bagged the Cup!"

The whistle still echoed in his ears when Madam Chang shouted, _"GRYFFINDOR WINS!"_

The following minutes did not seem real to Albus, but like a vivid remembrance of the best movie he'd ever seen. He was being hoisted into the air and flown around the pitch, then shaking hands with Headmistress Sprout, then Wendelyne and Rose were smothering him, then Professor Longbottom was pounding him on the back so hard he lost his breath, then his Quidditch robes were being torn apart by Kayla Sylvanus and Tanith Moon, then he was atop people's shoulders again, and before he became more acutely aware of what was going on, he was laughing with his team members on their way up to the castle.

"...really have to thank Monica for that, her broom isn't half bad," James was telling the others.

"You, Al," laughed Rose, arm crooked lazily around his neck. "Never would have believed you'd run straight at Moran like that! Were you trying to drive your forehead through his?"

Albus puffed himself up proudly. "I was going for the gold, Rosie. Knew Moran would chicken out, anyway; his looks are too important to jeopardise on a single Quidditch game, after all."

"Don't act like you did it all on your own," Olivia chided. "Logan shares a bit of the glory, too."

"What? Logan?" Albus turned to stare at the temporary Beater, who only looked sheepish.

"That Bludger of his really came in handy at the exact right moment," said Wendelyne airily. "To think one player could both almost ruin the day and save it, all in the same match."

"Oh, is that why Moran swerved? Huh, I wondered about that..."

Rose elbowed him hard. "Didn't even notice an incoming Bludger? That's twice, then."

"Oi, I was trying to concentrate on something important! The Snitch could have gone to either of us, I had to bear down and give it everything I had!"

"And it worked!" crowed McLaggen. "We won the Quidditch Cup, we've done it!"

"Rose - Rose Weasley?"

They all looked up to see Barty coming toward them through the entrance hall. Automatically, Rose called out, "Yeah?"

"There you are," he wheezed, fanning himself with his hat. "Sorry to stamp on your stunning victory - congratulations, by the way - but I'm to deliver a message that you and Jezabel Skirrow are to proceed forthwith to classroom nine, and that it is quite important."

Albus glanced over at her, but she seemed utterly nonplussed. "Really?"

"Yes. I've already informed Miss Skirrow, by the way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've spotted a group of second years attempting to ignite a Basic Blaze Box. I say, you there!"

"Guess I'd better see about it," sighed Rose wearily, shouldering her own Nimbus. "Barty couldn't have scraped together one or two details for me, could he? I'll join you guys in the common room afterward."

"See you, then."

But as soon as Rose left and his teammates fell to discussing the highlights of the game, Albus's curiosity got the better of him. What was this about? Probably nothing truly important - exaggerating the importance of his position was a pastime of Barty's. It was none of his business, anyway. Then an alarming thought fell into his head, and he found he could not shake it once he'd had it - what if it were the spectre master setting up an ambush? The likelihood was low, but in the end he decided he would err on the side of caution.

It was strange to be skulking along behind Rose, trying not to let her hear his footsteps. Why couldn't he have had the cloak with him? Maybe there was no place to stow it inside his broken Firebolt, but he could have hidden it under his robes... alas, no time to worry about it at the moment. Before he knew it, they were standing outside the unused classroom nine, and he was listening at the keyhole as Rose said hello to Jezabel. Should he really be doing this? It was too late, now.

"Cor, this is so annoying," Rose was saying. "They could at least not keep us waiting if they don't give us any idea what we're doing here!"

"Mmm." They were quiet for a moment before Jezabel said, "So... is Albus all right?"

"What? Oh, yeah, he's fine. The Bludger didn't even hit him, really - just the broom. It's the ground that hit him."

"Yes," she giggled, but Albus could tell that comment did little to allay her fears. "It looked like a bad spill, I wondered if he'd need to go back to the hospital wing yet again."

"Jezabel, what are your intentions with my cousin?"

Another pause in the conversation. "Come again? Your cousin Barty, or-"

"You know who I mean," said Rose in a voice dripping with conspiracy, and Albus was suddenly under a very strong impression that the smartest thing he could do at the moment would be to storm in there and slap his hand over Rose's mouth. Second on that list was to flee the scene, so he at least wouldn't have to bear witness to the rest of this line of interrogation. "Albus. What are you after, exactly?"

"I- what? Sorry," she said earnestly, "but I'm really not sure what you're asking."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not cross with you or whatever," Rose laughed. "It's just... well, I'm not sure what's going on in that head of yours sometimes."

"Neither am I. For example, now, because you're confusing me."

"Do you... _like_ him?"

Albus was now visited by a silly notion to check around for a reporter from The Quibbler scratching away at what would be a record-selling gossip column. Was Rose serious? Moreover, did she really feel this was an appropriate thing to ask _anyone,_ much less Jezabel? After this, her next birthday present was going to be even less exciting than the rosebud socks, if he bought her one at all.

"Like him? Of course! He's sweet, and generous, and- but surely you like him also, don't you?"

 _"WHAT?_ Oh." Rose laughed nervously. "Well, yeah, as a friend."

"Yes, obviously. You two have always been inseparable. I think it's beautiful that some families can be that way."

"Stop trying to change the subject," snapped Rose. "The way you look at him all the time, and how much you cried when Dorika almost manured him to death. He's got under your skin, hasn't he?"

The silence that followed this was a lot thicker than the first two, and Albus was sure his gulp rang through the hallway. What was she going to say? Did he want her to say anything at all? Then, before he had decided, she spoke.

"Er... under my..."

"A _-ha!_ I knew it, I knew it all along!"

"Knew wh-what? What are you-"

"You fancy him!"

_"EXCUSE ME?"_

"No, you can't deny it now, it's plain as the mysterious nosejob on your face! You've been crushing on him ever since the beginning of the year, haven't you?"

Albus decided he was actually going to _take_ things from Rose on her next birthday.

"Rose Weasley, I- how can you be- where is all this coming from?" she squeaked. "I mean, why are you assailing me? Do you know what that sounds like?"

"Do you know what _you_ sound like? Let me tell you: a lovesick puppy! Come on, just be honest!"

"I w-won't! I won't because you're... you're saying untrue things!"

"Then you're saying you're not in love with him?"

"Rose, please, have I done something to offend you? Is this some kind of- of joke, or-"

"Out with it, come on, you'll feel better!"

 _"STOP IT!"_ Al blinked at the forcefulness in her voice. Where did _that_ come from? Then again, Rose had gone too far long before the moment when Jezabel snapped, and though he was far from pleased to be hearing all this Albus had to resist an urge to clap for her. "Even if I d-did fancy Albus, I certainly wouldn't tell you after all this! You... you're accusing me of it as if I ought to be punished! Do you really hate me that much?"

Stronger than the urge to clap was the urge to die, right there on the spot. If hearing Wendelyne, Kayla and Tanith discuss how attractive they found him was embarrassing, hearing one best friend ask the other if she was head over heels for him was genuinely mortifying. What was Rose playing at?

"I... Jezabel-"

"I'm sorry," she said, though her tones were still harsher than usual. "I meant what I said, but... but I didn't intend to shout at you."

"No, I'm sorry," she sighed. "Really, I am, I went too far. Merlin, I think I needed a few more lumps of tact in my tea this morning."

"I should think my feelings about Albus, whatever they are, would be between myself and Albus."

"And you're not wrong. I just... I don't know, I want to-"

"You want to protect him." And just like that, her voice was back to normal, all trace of anger gone. "Rose, I- I know that, I've seen how you are. It's important to you to see to Albus's well-being, I understand - and I think that's laudable. You're a good friend, but... you were taunting me."

"No, I wasn't!" Another pause. "Okay, I was. I owe you a Butterbeer or two, don't I?"

Jezabel giggled, and when Rose joined her he could tell they were trying to break the formidable piles of tension in the room. "If that's how you settle your debts, then I accept."

"You know, Albus, we could conjure up some popcorn - a box of candy, perhaps?"

It was the kind of thing that should be able to turn a man to stone according to some obscure Greek legend. As it was, Albus felt petrified enough as he slowly turned to see Matthias Peele's haggard face inches from his own. When the Auror spoke again, his voice was as soft as it had been before.

"Afternoon. Enjoying the show?"

"M-Mr Peele!" he whispered, sweating as profusely as he had been during the match. "Wh-what-"

"Ordinarily, it might be kind of funny to tell your friends in there you've been snooping," he murmured, "but this really doesn't seem the time, so I'll mete out a courtesy to you this once. Please try not to make eavesdropping into a habit."

"Of c-course not, sir," he agreed hastily, privately thinking it was sound advice.

"Good." He rose to his feet, and Albus did the same. "Anyway, I suppose they're just going to tell you whatever I'm going to tell them, so if you want to follow me in, you may."

"Oh, Mr Peele," said Jezabel when they entered. "How is Mrs Peele, any news or- Albus? What's going on?"

"Al, I thought you went up to the common room," said Rose, a hint of suspicion in her tone.

"Yes, well, I ran into him in the hallway and asked him to join us," the man said truthfully, if scarcely so. "Thought I might make the conversations shorter."

As Albus walked over to where Jezabel and Rose were perched on schooldesks, determinedly avoiding their eyes, he noticed the room seemed awfully familiar. As he joined them, it hit him. "We've been in here before, haven't we?"

"Yes, I think you're right," said Jezabel. "At the start of Winter Term. Though all these unoccupied classrooms look so very alike, it would be difficult to say for sure."

"So, Mr Peele," began Rose. "What is it we're doing in here?"

"Yes," he sighed, removing his travelling cloak and hanging it over the back of yet another chair. "Well, we are actually here for a pair of reasons, and though they are unrelated, it seemed easier to get it all out of the way in one sitting. But more will be coming, and we'll get down to brass tacks then."

"More?"

On cue, the door opened again, and to their full and complete bewilderment none other than the Minister for Magic walked in, followed closely by Professor Longbottom, Scorpius Malfoy, his father, Draco, another tall, elderly man with very little hair leaning heavily on a cane, Rose and Albus's grandfather Arthur, and-

 _"RYAN!"_ shouted Rose, jumping down from her desk and throwing her arms around the boy much as if he were returning from the war front. "Holy hippogriffs, I can't believe it's you!"

"Whoa, whoa, ease off!" he wheezed, straw-coloured hair falling into his eyes as ever it did. "A bloke might start getting ideas if you squinch him _this_ tight!"

"Skiving off classes for weeks at a time," chided Albus, patting him on the back as Rose finally let him out of her deathgrip. "Ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Yeah, well, you're right," he sighed, grinning at both of them. "When I caught Logan going through your stuff, I really should have started putting it back straight away, but, er... well, I thought I might see what the monocle looked like on me first. You know what they say about killing the cat and all."

"So it was Logan going through my trunk," said Albus. "And we were all ready to honour him as a Quidditch hero."

Ryan blinked. "A _what?"_

"This is all so very touching," wheezed the gaunt old man, especially toward Minister Shacklebolt, "and I am pleased this boy is reunited with his companions, but when a man reaches my age, his time becomes very precious. Do get on with it."

"On with what, exactly?" said Rose, directing her comment to Mr Peele rather than demand the Minister himself explain anything. "I mean, you said there were two things-"

"I did," he affirmed as the Minister withdrew a scroll from within his robes. "The first of these, obviously, is the solving of the 'monocle mystery', as they've been calling it around the office. Since we needed to bring Mr Macmillan back to the castle, and you two were already here, it seemed prudent to hold the meeting in an empty classroom. The second is the reason I've come along, as I am Miss Skirrow's case worker."

"Already, I don't like the sound of this," whispered Jezabel, inching behind Albus the tiniest bit.

"What about Jezabel?" asked Rose.

"Well," answered the Minister in his deep, booming voice, "it is customary to have all named recipients present when reading a will. The late Bellatrix Lestrange did not leave her daughter with nothing."

_END Chapter Forty-Three_


	44. The Will of Bellatrix Lestrange

_"Are you mad?"_

Albus had been sure someone would say that, but hadn't been expecting it to come from Scorpius, specifically. "Pardon?" asked the Minister in tones far more polite than the Slytherin deserved.

"She's the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, the Death Eater?" Scorpius demanded of them. "You've got to be barking! Everybody knows she's a Mudblood!"

"Scorpius, mind your tongue," Draco ordered under his breath.

Mr Peele decided to field that question. "If you are referring to the Muggle parents she lives with, they are her adoptive guardians. Also, none of that is your business, and you'll do well to remember that you are already in more than enough trouble, young man."

"Sorry, sir," spat Scorpius.

Before Peele could answer, Rose asked, "Trouble? For what, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Ah," Longbottom began heavily. "It seems young Mr Malfoy here was behind your recent discomfort. We've found evidence linking him to the cursed object."

"You _git!"_ Rose shouted, spittle flying from her mouth as she drew uncomfortably close to his face. "Urgh, this is- I've been watching Ryan waggle his backside in my face because of _you?"_

Ryan made a face. "You saw all that?"

"No way," said Albus tonelessly, thinking back to the box that had arrived in the mail. "It can't have been... he forged my aunt's handwriting and everything? I don't believe it!"

"We've got plenty of solid proof," his grandfather said. "Also, he has something to say to us."

"Oh, really?" Instantly, Rose was transported. "This ought to be rich."

Scorpius's cold eyes glared down at his four nemeses, pug nose twitching at the prospect of what he was supposed to be doing. He dawdled overlong, and his father poked him in the back of the head. Then, with a deep sigh, he folded his arms and grumbled, "Sorry I sent the monocle."

Albus had begun to snicker as Rose spoke again, her voice purposefully high and saccharine. "What was that? Sorry you did what to who?"

"Sorry I sent you the monocle," he said, hardly louder than the first time. "There."

"You're forgetting someone, Scorpius," his father hissed.

"Oh, right." He turned to face in Mr Weasley's general direction. "Sorry I stole it from your shed."

"What?" said Albus as his grandfather gave Scorpius a courteous nod. "So... so I _did_ see you slip something into your pocket at the bonfire! You petty little thief!"

"Recognised it the moment I saw it down at the office," said Mr Weasley with a resigned smile. "We had first confiscated it from a disagreeable chap perhaps two months before Christmas, and it took well over a week to extract the poor Muggle who fell victim to that prank. I'd brought it home to see if perhaps I could find a way to remove the enchantment, but it's one of those little projects that fall by the wayside. It was only after we figured out Draco Junior had put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it on top of the old curse that we were able to readjust our thinking and get Mr Macmillan out."

"Your grandfather remembered I'd been near the shed and asked if I saw anything suspicious," Professor Longbottom told Albus with a wink. "Of course, you know the rest."

"Yeah, yeah, so it's all my fault, so what?" Scorpius snapped. "The label attached said 'Warning, Dangerous'. I figured it would probably burn you or something, a stupid joke! How was I supposed to know it sucks people inside where they can't get out? Argh!"

"So, wait a minute." All this talk of multiple charms and sucking people in and out seemed contradictory to Albus. "If there's a Permanent Sticking Charm on it, how did Ryan get sucked in? Wouldn't the monocle have glued itself to his face instead?"

Mr Peele was shaking his head before Albus finished. "The curse originally placed on the object was much more powerful than a simple Sticking Charm. We can only guess the wizard space inside was intended to hold only one person at a time, and therefore was already 'occupied' when Miss Weasley tried it on. Therefore, the Sticking Charm held."

"Oh, I should dearly love to find out who made that monocle," said Mr Weasley in oddly sinister tones. "Sweat the incantation out of him so we could undo it."

"You know, I'm not sure that apology really satisfied me." Rose paced back and forth, staring down at the slightly shorter boy. "That lens was stuck to my eye for a week, and it was very painful. Shouldn't you be getting down on your knees or something?"

"Oh, I really don't think-"

"The school is well within their right to punish the boy," said Longbottom, trying his best not to grin. "A sixth year filled with detentions ought to be about right for trapping a student within a Dark object, and then attaching it to another student, and that's without-"

"All right, all right, I get the point!" he said hastily, reeling at the prospect of an entire year's detentions. Swearing to the winds the entire time, he dropped to one knee and said, "I'm really sorry about the monocle thing. Better?"

"Hmm." Privately, Albus envied the power Rose had over Scorpius at that moment, and did not blame her at all for milking it. "It might help if you said, 'Rose Weasley is my beautiful queen, and I am but her loyal trained chimpanzee.' Let's give that a go."

Scorpius shot a look at his father laced with so much contempt Albus could almost see the daggers of ice flying at the elder man. "Rose Weasley is my b- beautiful queen, and I am but her loyal trained chimpanzee."

"It's too bad digital recorders don't work at Hogwarts," Jezabel whispered in Albus's ear.

"Digiwhat?"

"That will do, I'm sure, Miss Weasley," said Longbottom with a slight smile. "Though to be thorough, I'd say Mr Malfoy's earned himself a detention or three, regardless. See me after this meeting and I'll have you join Miss Nott and Mr Malkin in pruning the snargaluffs."

Shaking his head violently, he stomped off into the corner and folded his arms again, sulking.

"Now that's sorted," said Mr Peele, "on with the reading of the will, I should think?"

"Of course," the Minister said. They both walked around the old teacher's desk, the Minister sitting in the chair and Matthias standing beside him. "Ahem, let's see... 'I, Bellatrix Violetta Lestrange, being of sound mind and body-'"

"Pur- _lease,_ " muttered Rose.

"'-do hereby bequeath my personal belongings and worth unto the following persons. Should these persons be dead or incapacitated upon the time of my passing, my assets shall pass unto the control of any living member of the Black or Malfoy family.'"

"We may not be alive much longer if you don't expedite this process," grunted the old man.

Arthur Weasley tutted at him. "Come now, Lucius; surely prison taught you a touch of patience?"

"Merlin," gasped Rose, leaning back slightly so as to whisper to Albus, Jezabel and Ryan. "That ancient fossil is Scorpius's grandfather!"

"I could have told you that," Ryan replied. "They all pretty much look the same, don't they?"

"'-persons is as follows'," Kingsley was reading. "'To Lucius Malfoy, I leave my collection of antique armour, to remember the battle hard fought.'"

"Goody goody gumdrops," the old man said with a pinched smile. "To remember the battle pointlessly fought, just what I wanted. Ah, well - I daresay it will fetch a handsome price."

"'To my good sister Narcissa Malfoy, I leave my skins and furs, as I know she always coveted them.'"

"I suppose I'll take those, also," said Lucius, sighing heavily.

"Oh," said Jezabel in a small voice. When Albus raised his eyebrows at her, she whispered, "W-well, I'd heard Scorpius say once that his grandmother had succumbed to dragon pox when he was seven and never recovered. Bellatrix's will must not have been updated since before then."

"'-their son, Draco, I leave the sword of Godric Gryffindor, to remind him of the blow never struck.'"

"That wrinkled old hag," spat Draco. "Even in death, she won't let me forget."

"The sword is a fake," said Longbottom with a smile. "Still, it will be worth its weight. In fact, perhaps you and I could arrange-"

"Yes, yes, fine, Neville; for a few shiny Galleons it's yours. As if I want a Gryffindor keepsake, anyway."

"'To my husband, Rodolphus - I would leave you my property in Leeds, but goodness knows you'd have as much use for it as I do.'"

"What's that about?" asked Rose before realising she'd spoken aloud. "Er, I mean-"

"Her husband was also a Death Eater," explained Lucius. "They both served life sentences. A very, very small joke."

"Indeed," said Shacklebolt. "Ahem - 'Therefore, I bequeath the entirety of my remaining assets to my estranged daughter, Jezabel Lestrange, whose surname is now Skirrow, upon the time she comes of age. Particularly among these, the collection of exotic potions from around the world, and-"

"Excuse me?" demanded Draco. "You mean... you mean to say she left that mansion and half the contents of her vault to a girl she never knew, and I'm to be satisfied with an imitation sword?"

"-'and the envelope marked, "J.E.S.". I trust it will help her find her way.'" Kingsley sat back, rubbing his temples with his huge, ebony hands. "The rest is legal drivel."

"This is absurd! The family she knew means nothing to her, and the family she didn't know gets everything! As if the house of Malfoy hasn't suffered enough!"

"Oh, do be quiet, Draco," the old man said, swatting him on the arm with his cane. "If it makes you feel any better, you can have a few of your mother's skins."

"How very generous of you, Father." The level of sarcasm in his voice should have been illegal.

"Er..."

Everyone was staring at Jezabel expectantly. For a few seconds, she appeared to be debating which question to ask, or whether or not she should ask one at all. "W- I- that is... please, sir, what does this mean? That... that I have a house?"

"A _house?"_ shouted Draco. "If by 'house' you mean 'estate capable of sleeping twenty easily', then yes, you've got yourself a cozy cottage! Meanwhile, I'm still living with Father!"

"And..." Albus decided she must be so overwhelmed by being left such riches that she couldn't even register Mr Malfoy's outrage at the entire situation. "The other assets... how much-"

"Whatever's left in her vault at Gringotts," said Mr Peele. "After the Malfoys' affects are removed, that is. Believe you me, it's no small potatoes."

"I- I- I can't breathe," she panted, waving at her face. "To me? Why, I- I've never- there's... I can't breathe, Albus, it's too m-much, too much-"

"Here," he laughed, pointing his wand at her throat and saying, _"Anapneo!"_ The rush of air alone helped her regain control of her nervous system, and she clutched at his arm for support for a moment. "It's okay, Jezabel, there's nothing-"

"Albus, I've never had so much as a penny to my name," she babbled, eyes unfocused and staring. "The idea of actually owning not only gold, but a house of my own? That's, it's- it's- I don't know what that is, but it sounds like-"

"Freedom," said Rose, smiling at her. "I mean, you were working toward that answer, weren't you? If you wanted, you could move out of that Muggle house right now, use some of the money in your vault to spruce up your new digs a touch!"

"'Digs', eh?" chuckled Mr Peele. "Yes, well, anyway, that seems to conclude our business here, and I'd like to get back to St Mungo's. Nice to see all of you again."

It felt like hours passed while the adults filed out of the room one by one, talking in hushed tones amongst themselves about both related and unrelated subjects. Scorpius behaved as if he wanted to remain long enough to tell Rose what he truly thought of her, but Draco chivvied him along by steering both shoulders directly through the door. At long last, the four Gryffindors were alone in classroom nine.

"So," Ryan started things off. "Since when is Logan a star athlete?"

o o o

An hour crept by, and Albus found himself wishing he were elsewhere. Every time he looked at Rose, the interrogation she put Jezabel through came to mind, and when he turned instead to Jezabel, guilt over eavesdropping on her answers to Rose's unfair questions weighed heavy upon his heart. As a result he spent a great deal of the conversation with his eyes focused on either Ryan or the floor, and he saw a "Why are you staring at me?" expression on Ryan's face more than once. He would liked to have felt more cheerful when his bunkmate returned to the school.

Ryan, as it turned out, was most interested in finding out that he had technically visited the infamous Azkaban during his stay inside corrective eyewear. When Rose asked him how much he saw, he looked at her quizzically.

"Didn't see a blasted thing the whole time," he grumbled, folding his arms. "Well, except for one gigantic eye, but even that's a dreadfully dull sight after the first day or two."

"That was my eye, I presume?" Rose asked.

"Probably. And about that - sorry for anything unseemly I might have done while we were epoxied together. After a while, though, you just run out of angry things to shout and conversations to have with yourself."

She seemed to consider giving him a hard time for a moment before she sighed. "Yeah. I just feel ridiculous for putting an eyepatch on every time I changed clothes, when all along you couldn't have seen me, anyway."

"Er, heh... right." Albus felt sure Ryan's heart had skipped a beat there.

Eventually Mr Urran showed up, and assuming they must be up to no good he shooed them toward the Great Hall to sate their appetites. Before Albus could follow Jezabel in, Rose pulled him off to one side.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he said reflexively before realising it only made him more suspicious.

"Bollocks. Aren't you glad to see Ryan isn't trapped anymore?"

There was no use in hiding it from Rose. Much though he knew he'd be pleading guilty to eavesdropping on his best friends, her behaviour could not be left unchallenged. "I'd be in a better mood if certain cousins didn't go around needling innocent girls about their secret crushes."

Rose's mind laboured for a moment before it reached its destination. "Oh, I see. Wait a m- _hey!_ Albus, you, you... cad!"

"Cad?" he laughed bitterly.

"I can't believe you would tabhang on _me!"_ she hissed, and he felt a momentary pang when he saw the betrayed look in her bright eyes. "Al, don't you... don't you trust me?"

"Not anymore," he flung at her. "I did feel guilty about overhearing you at first, but then you started grilling Jezabel like a fresh pike! Dammit, Rose, did you really think it was okay for you to press so hard for an answer, especially about a sensitive topic like 'who would you rather be snogging right now'?"

"But you heard her reactions." Albus noted that her tone of voice made it clear she regretted her methods, but not the results. "If she had nothing to hide, she'd have been more adamant that she _didn't_ fancy you. She got so upset!"

"Rose, I think you're missing my point. I don't want you trying that again."

She sighed, glancing around to make sure they weren't being listened to. "Al, any fool could see she likes you, but I knew she'd never do anything about it if I didn't give her a little push."

"Well, you pushed, all right." His nose was inches from Rose's, and every freckle was in strong relief. "You pushed her so hard she actually got angry. When's the last time you remember her angry?"

"Never," she admitted.

"Rose, I... I can't believe you would do this. Maybe you were trying to do the right thing, but for a minute there you were almost as bad as the Slytherins! In fact, you sounded precisely like Genevieve, I'd s-"

"Don't you go there," she snapped. "I'm not denying I messed up, but that's overboard. Here I was trying to do you a favour and you're equating me with that stupid moo? Cheers, Al, that's great." Then she changed tact, folding her arms carefully. "I only hope her crush survives a blow like this."

"You can't tell Jezabel I overheard you two," he whispered urgently, eyes popping. "She's just beginning to not hate the both of us, and the last thing I want is to give her reason to believe I walk around listening in on my friends unawares."

Her poisonous smile was infuriating. "But you _were_ listening in on-"

"I _thought_ I was investigating why you two had been summoned. For all I knew, Dryden was going to drop a piano on your heads as soon as you walked in the classroom! There's no way I could have expected you to- to-"

"Fine, fine, I get the picture." For one very tense moment, both cousins shifted from foot to foot, trying to decide what to say. Rose opened her mouth to speak, but Albus beat her to it.

"Look, let's just agree that we both weren't thinking, and neither of us meant any harm, and leave it at that. Saves time."

"That sounds acceptable."

The cycle had begun anew; something annoying happened, both he and Rose enjoyed a violent overreaction, then eventually entered a brief cooling period before they truly returned to status quo. As expected, they did not speak a word to each other all throughout their meal, despite Lily asking each of them what was wrong several times.

"So let me get this straight," Ryan managed around a mouthful of chicken. "Dorika Dunsmore, the girl who has doves in her eyes and a wand made out of sugar cane, lifted Albie here up by his throat and tried to plop him straight in the dragon dung, then nearly croaked our Defence teacher?"

The ever-helpful James nodded. "That's the long and short of it."

"You're all having me on," he laughed, eyes moving between each member of the Potter family and Jezabel. "You planned this joke as a welcome-back gift, and it's a riot, it is, but where is Dorika _really?"_

"In Azkaban, we swear!" said Lily. "And good riddance!"

Rose set down her goblet heavily. "Personally, I think it's horrible to lock up anyone underage, no matter what they're accused of!"

"She did nearly snuff a half dozen students, you know," said Elizabeth Larkins from a few seats down, jaw set. "And some of us were only tortured, or had you forgotten? She's a cold-blooded maniac!"

"She is not," snapped Albus before he could help himself. When they all goggled at him, he burst out, "Oh, wake up! I was the one she almost buried alive, and even I don't think it was her fault!"

"But Ryan agrees, don't you, Ryan?" Lily's eyes were pleading, as if she'd much prefer Dorika be guilty than consider the madman might still be loose in the castle. "If she's the one who tried to k- kill- kill my brother, I say she ought to be hanged!"

"Lils," he breathed, touched beyond simple words. Her misty eyes flicked to him for just a moment before focusing on Ryan's next proclamation.

"But it can't be her. That is, somebody else has to be in on it."

"Yeah?" James folded his arms. "And what, pray tell, do you base that little leap in logic on?"

"Because it wasn't any girl who cursed me."

Everyone was at a loss, especially Rose, Lily and Albus. A grainy vision of a rattling suit of armour came back to them, hazy as if a great distance away. "Oh yeah," Rose uttered at last.

"Exactly. Maybe I didn't see my attacker, but their voice most certainly sounded male to yours truly. So we're either looking for a real tomboy, or..."

"Dorika's innocent," said Lily in a small voice. "B-but- no, we can't still be dealing with a lunatic, not here at Hogwarts!"

"We've been dealing with it all year," added Jezabel dismally. "All of us, and this only means - _ouch!"_

The level of dread increased more than a fraction as they watched Jezabel remove yet another envelope from atop her head. "How many people in Azkaban do you know?" demanded James. "Or did you make a few penfriends last time in?"

"What is it?" asked Albus. "Should I start packing our trunks?"

Her eyebrows began to twitch slightly. "No, I- I know what this is. I'm just not sure what's in it."

When Albus and Rose peeked over her shoulders, they saw three letters written in bright-green ink: "J.E.S."

_END Chapter Forty-Four_


	45. The Weight Of O.W.L.s

Jezabel did not seem to feel any urgent need to open her birthmother's envelope, despite around-the-clock coaxing from Albus and Rose as the sun set on the month of May. The idea of being given an unknown present from beyond the grave and not caring was absurd to them; how could she put it off like an unpleasant chore? Albus expected her to refuse to tell him why, as well, but he was mistaken.

"I don't know," she sighed exasperatedly at him one evening as they sat around a table in the Gryffindor common room. "It's- there's a niggling feeling that I shouldn't open it just yet."

Rose looked up from behind a particularly gruelling Charms assignment. "Are you afraid of the Mentacles' revenge or something?"

Her dark eyes seemed to consider this briefly. "Hmm... maybe a bit, but not entirely. Whatever's stopping me opening it is another animal altogether, and- oh, I do wish I could put my finger on it!"

"It's okay," Albus soothed. "Put your mum from your mind for now. Let us know when you're ready, and we'll be there to help you deal with the envelope's contents."

"Whatever they are," said Rose darkly.

The madcap string of events that played out after Gryffindor's spectacular victory on the pitch had done its level best to banish all thoughts of his father's broom from Albus's mind, and it may have been some time before he thought of it again if not for a question posed to him on the afternoon two days following.

"Tell me, have you ordered a replacement broom, Albus?" asked Professor Longbottom as the other students filed out to wash up.

"Oh," he breathed, painfully imagining the expression on his father's face when he found out the legendary gift from Godfather Sirius was no more. "N-not yet; I hadn't even considered it. Er, why? What do you recommend?"

"I recommend you don't bother," he said with a sly grin, reaching down behind his desk and holding up the good-as-slightly-used Firebolt he had grown so used to in such a short time.

"What in the bloody hell- it's perfect!" he exclaimed, running his fingers along the polished handle as his teacher pretended to be affronted by his language. "You'd never think to look at it that a Bludger had turned it to toothpicks! How'd you manage this?"

Neville shrugged. "It was a clean enough break, I reckoned it wouldn't be too difficult for a learned wizard. Let me know if it's gone wonky from being fixed improperly, won't you? Wood'll owe me a large favour if his handiwork drops one of my students on his skull..."

Being that they were at school and he had a reputation to uphold, Albus restrained himself from hugging his Head of House.

Their feverish studies and ongoing Quidditch Cup celebrations caused the greater population of Gryffindor House to forget that they had one last Hogsmeade weekend to enjoy before O.W.L.s. Thus, it came as something of a shock to Albus when Nathaniel Peasegood crossed the common room the night previous and stumbled around his question for several tries before successfully asking Rose out on a date - depending on how one defines success.

"Look, Nate, I told you I am not interested!" she hissed, glancing over at Albus as her ears began to flash like a clabbert's pustule. "I... I'd hate to watch you keep doing this to yourself over and over, but that's what you'll be doing if you don't stop, so please, just... just leave it, all right?"

Albus strained to hold his laughter in until the gangly third-year had slunk far enough away that he might not hear it. Then, he could bear it no longer.

"Bugger off, Al."

"B-but Rose," he chuckled, wiping an eye, "you should have s-seen the look on your freckly face when he asked - I thought your ears were going to melt into slag!"

"I said shut up, will you?" she ordered, grabbing up her quill so thoughtlessly that she spilled ink all over her Potions book. "Twice is two times too many! He'd better not bother me again or his next rejection will have to be more public."

"Poor thing," whispered Jezabel, using her wand to clear off the book as best she could. She seemed to Albus reluctant to comment on the situation, but compelled to do so. "Y... you were awfully short with him, Rose."

Albus's cousin did not seem to enjoy their comments. "Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't. Maybe I ought to lock you two and Nate in Dungeon Six with a boggart for a few days." A heavy sigh issued from the depths of her. "Can we get back to studying, for the love of Merlin?"

o o o

The sky was iron grey on the morning of their last Hogsmeade trip of the school year, though the temperature was more than comfortable. Albus could not blame Jezabel for staying behind to pour over her notes - when had she ever come back from the village in a remotely good mood, if not in tears or unconscious? Nevertheless, Albus had a personal mission to tend to, and Rose thought his reservations about Hogsmeade were unfounded.

"Codswallop," she scoffed as they poked around in Honeydukes. "Voldemort will not rise again purely because we've set foot in this dinky municipality. You're just-"

"-just right? Rose, the last two - _two_ times Jezabel came back from here, she had to be carried because she couldn't do it under her own power! How can that be coincidence alone?"

"She's got rotten luck to begin with," Rose countered, balancing a pack of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and some Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans in her hands as if their weight would determine which she'd rather buy. "Trying to make out that any of it's rooted in a central location is stupid."

"Oh, well, sorry I'm stupid, then."

Rose rolled her eyes. "The wounded act isn't going to work this time; I don't believe in your budding superstition and I'm not changing my mind. Now, what is it you wanted to pick up while we're down here?"

"It has to be something nice," he said distractedly, peering between every shelf. "Not a common thing like a sherbet ball, it's got to have meaning... or something really good, like you'd get once in a lifetime."

As he reached for a case of Chocolate Frogs, he found his hand blocked by Rose's questioning eyes. "Do I get to know _why_ we're picking out a wedding present, or are you counting on my shock being genuine when you pop the question to one of your hangers-on back at the castle?"

"Oh, get out of it," he grumbled. "It's not like I've never got anything for you, is it?"

"Never. Not once in all our lives. You are simply the least generous person I've-"

"Enough, already," he laughed in spite of himself, rummaging around in his schoolbag. "Look, here - still think I'm not generous?"

Rose stared down at the box in her hands, mildly surprised. "Extendable Ears? What are these for?"

"Bought 'em back when Mum dragged Jezabel and I to Diagon Alley for the day, turning her into a dress-up doll in the process. Yours were bottoming out the last few times we used them, weren't they?"

And the edge melted from Rose's voice. "Cheers, Al... but what took you so long to give them to me?"

"No specific opportunity presented itself," he shrugged. "Anyway, if you don't want to help me with my shopping, I'll do it myself."

"Well, obviously I'd walk through fire for you now you've handed me a cheap trinket from Uncle George's shop." She folded her arms as they moved aside for a few patrons to squeeze past them through the aisle, voice still dripping with sarcasm when she continued. "Call me insatiably curious, but... what is it we're supposed to be picking out?"

Albus smiled conspiratorially, and one of Rose's eyebrows began to inch upward. "I think you'll agree that it's more than a little important."

o o o

Sunlight poured in through the windows of Hogwarts on the day O.W.L.s began for Albus and his fellow fifth-years, which only served to put them in a grouchier mood; most of them would scarcely see a ray of it that day. Jezabel met he, Rose and Ryan in the common room to wish them luck before they began their slow march toward certain death.

"Mum's going to murder me," said Rose in a hollow voice. "I'm going to get all D's, and Mum's going to shave my head, chop me up into tiny morsels and feed me to-"

"Will you stop that?" Albus snapped. "I'm trying to remember what Mars being particularly bright means!"

She did not seem to consider that overly taxing. "Think you've got it rough? I keep forgetting why all those coloured pictures show up on a television screen! It's not as simple as a moving portrait, you know!"

When both walked into the Great Hall for a crumb of breakfast, still debating whether Muggle Studies or Divination would provide the more strenuous exam, the sight that greeted them was a welcome boost of cheer.

"Oh goodness," said Jezabel from behind them, face slackening. "Professor Peele, she's returned!"

Many students - Ravenclaws, in particular - had gathered around the Defence professor to welcome her back from the hospital, and she seemed to be doing her best to ignore the fuss they were making. Albus, for his part, gave her a small wave, which she returned by way of a nod and a wink. It seemed to him that she was significantly paler than he recalled.

"Today can't be all bad," said Jezabel hopefully, perhaps trying to strengthen their collective resolve. "See?"

"That's all right for her," grumbled Rose. "And it's really wonderful that she's okay - I mean that. Still... oh, I just know I'm going to flunk right out of here!"

"Enough," said Albus. "Y'know, I think Jez has the right idea, here - if our teacher can take an Avada Kedavra and come out the other side of it, we ought to be able to suffer through some old test."

To watch her reaction, one might think Albus had just questioned her parentage. "Some old test? _Some old TEST?"_

o o o

By the evening meal two days later, everyone sitting their fifth- and seventh-year examinations was ready for them to be over and done with. Unfortunately, most of them had at least another week's worth of test after test ahead of them - a prospect that caused Albus's stomach to churn like the stew he was stirring distractedly.

"Oh, for Peverell's sake," James sighed, reaching over and forcibly removing the spoon from his hand. "You're an embarrassment, you are. Just chomp down hard, dig your heels in and give it hell! You'll be out the other side before you know it."

"Easy for you to say," Rose replied for him. "You've done this before - this is the worst we've _ever_ been worked over by the teachers! My brain feels like an empty sponge that's been used and wrung out over and over for decades!"

"You mean it isn't?" Ryan quipped feebly, able to do little more than sip at his pumpkin juice.

"Let's get out of here, then," whispered Jezabel. "P-perhaps stretching your legs will...?"

For a moment, Albus continued to stare into the murky depths of his bowl. Then, shrugging, he said, "Why not? My appetite's not coming back any time soon."

Rose glanced at the last of her Pumpkin Pasty, then grabbed it as they stood and moved along to the entrance hall, Ryan bringing up the rear as if he were an afterthought.

"Bloody O.W.L.s!" Rose burst out furiously through the vestiges of her pasty. "What are we supposed to gain from this, I ask you? Squeezing all our knowledge from every pore until we curl up into the foetal position and beg for sweet-"

_"Oop!"_

_"Crap- OW!"_

Albus pushed himself back up to a sitting position, momentarily confused as to how an unremarkable walk toward the stairs had become a trip to the hard, cold floor. It did nothing to clarify matters when he saw the sickly, pouchy features of Genevieve Nott hovering directly above him.

"W-watch where you're going, you _git!"_ she screamed, tears falling from her eyes onto his cheeks as she scrambled to her feet and fled, tearing up the staircase before he could react any further.

"Eh?" was the best he could manage. Rose was not vastly more articulate.

"That was special."

Albus had scarcely enough time to regain his own footing before Scorpius Malfoy came charging up from the dungeons, slightly out of breath. When he noticed their group, he stopped short.

"What are you looking at?" he spat at Albus, avoiding Rose's gaze specifically - perhaps because the haughty smirk on her face would make the boldest of men feel burning shame just after an apparent squabble. "Never done any running yourself, I suppose?"

"Wh- what's wrong w-with Genevieve?" asked Jezabel, shifting her feet tentatively.

"Genevieve? What business is it of yours?" Those cold, grey eyes narrowed as they swept over her, lip curling slightly. "Blood traitor." And he resumed pursuit of his Housemate.

"D'you get the feeling," began Ryan as he took a step toward where they had both disappeared, "that we're missing out on some interesting details?"

Two of the others shrugged, but Jezabel sighed sadly. "This is still about me. About her and Atticus and Tristessa being shunned because of me. I- I'm sure of it."

Ryan laughed derisively. "Serves them right, I say. You'd think something like mercilessly torturing your fellow students would fall well outside the realm of sensible activities, wouldn't you?"

"Jezabel," Albus began, but she held up a thin hand. It took her a moment to gather her courage, as it seemed she'd prefer not to confront him.

"I know what you're going to say: th-that I shouldn't care, because they were at fault and they earned these consequences. But in truth, Atticus didn't actually participate, and the w-worst thing Genevieve did was stop me r-running away. Perhaps they deserved to be punished, but this... it really is like being drawn and quartered for neglecting to do the washing."

No one spoke as they followed her slowly up the stairs, but before they had reached the third floor, Rose's feelings on the matter came tumbling out - and it appeared they had been brewing for some time.

"You have to stop this! You have to stop feeling sorry for the stupid Slytherins, because all they've ever done for you is shove you down, or- or belittle you, or nearly send you the way of the buffalo! They don't deserve this? You bet your knickers! What they truly deserve is to have every last thing they did to you reflected back on themselves - _tenfold!"_

Albus glanced sideways at Jezabel, but she only looked as shocked as he felt. "Rose-"

"No, I'm not finished!" Her cheeks were flushed, both fists taught and trembling. "It makes me sick to watch you sympathise with them, because if anybody's got a right to show them nothing but open hostility, it's you! Why don't you want every last one of them rounded up and locked away in Azkaban? How can you be so damn forgiving?"

Both Albus and Ryan gawped at their redheaded compatriot, unsure if they should approach her or find adequate cover before she combusted. When he stole another look at her, Albus found Jezabel's lip was now trembling, her eyes wide.

"I- I'm sorry," she began, a hand drifting toward her mouth for no reason. "They- I just- well, I've known them for ages, and- and they're not bad people, they just-"

"No!" growled Rose madly. "No, they really are! They're completely devoid of morality and you know it!"

"Albus," she whispered to him directly, taking great, shuddering breaths as if trying to hold herself together. "I- d-do you- what-"

"Shh," he soothed, squeezing her bony shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner; this was more difficult to manage when trying not to shout at someone else. "You don't have to answer that."

"What on earth's the matter with you?" said Ryan, shaking his head slowly. "Have you been sneaking Firewhiskey into the school or something?"

"I just-" Rose's eyes began to well up. "All those scars... and you still... I can't stand it, and it's not even me they've been treating like filth all these years! H-how can you still make allowances for their horrible, horrible behaviour?"

Albus was seconds from drawing his wand on his own cousin when Jezabel stepped toward her, swallowed hard and placed a hesitant hand on her cheek. "Rose..."

"Stupid O.W.L.s," she choked, still as a statue. "Stretching my nerves so th-thin that I'm flying off the handle at my own friends. I hate this!"

Jezabel laughed wetly. "I don't want you to pity me, okay? I- those scars are old, I've forgotten what most of them were from. They're not yours to bear."

"But we should have been there! Someone should have stopped it all long before now, and- and you have so many, and all you've ever done was read your books and try not to get snuffed between classes!"

"P-please, Rose, don't take this on. I'm perfectly fine; happiest I've ever been, in fact. Now I have people I can care about, and who care about me - and I'm overjoyed that you do! But don't make it your personal mission to balance the scales for anything that happened in my past, okay? All it does is reopen the wounds and make them feel fresher. So please... let sleeping dogs lie? For me?"

Only faint snifflings could be heard in that section of Hogwarts for several minutes. No one else knew what to say, for both Jezabel and Rose had covered quite a lot in so few words. Then Albus cleared his throat and said, "Ryan, would you, er... take Rose up to the common room and get her some tea if you can? I'd like to talk to Jezabel for a minute."

He nodded uncomfortably, and though Rose threw his arm off the first time he placed it around her shoulders, she did not the second. Albus watched them go for a time before turning to Jezabel. "Hmm."

"Yes... fairly intense."

"Let me ask you something," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Have you really forgotten where you got most of your scars?"

"Of course not." Her tone was regretful and expression pained as she leaned against the wall. "Some of them, yes, but... the rest are specific, haunting memories. Memories of times I overstepped my bounds and was punished most severely for it."

He nodded. "Then I owe you for keeping that from Rose. You're a good friend."

"Is that what it is?" she asked him earnestly. "If you're lying to protect them, it's still lying, isn't it? Even lies of omission-"

"You know, I agree with her to a certain degree: you don't have to be the whipping boy. Er, girl, I mean! Urgh, if only Rose could phrase it like that instead of trying to blow your head off with sound waves alone..."

"You really think I worry too much?"

He shifted uneasily, pretending to find his shoelace fascinating. "A little. I mean, it's a commendable thing mostly, that you care, but it... it's like you were telling Rose a moment ago. You're taking too much weight on your shoulders without realising there's enough to go around, and you should let others handle a bit of it."

She seemed to ponder this as Albus ran a hand through his thick, unruly mop, wondering if there was a way he could handle some of it himself. He was still lost in thought when she said, "Maybe you're right. But... but it seems to me that if I take on as much as I can tolerate, it will make the load lighter for everyone else, right? That's how one should live one's life: shoulder as many burdens as you can, and hope your fellows do the same. That way, it's never too hard on any one person. That's fair, isn't it?"

Such a simply stated philosophy of life hit Albus like a tonne of bricks. When he saw her eyebrows raising at him, he smiled. "Yeah, I suppose it is. The only problem is, not everyone sees it the way you do."

"No, they don't," she conceded, frowning. "But that's what my father always says: 'Carry your own weight, even if your neighbour doesn't.' Maybe not everyone agrees with him, but I can't help that; it's how I want to live."

He began to nod, but it slowly became a shake. "Then why are you trying to put Rose off doing the same thing? What's fit for the goose is fit for the... er, other goose."

Jezabel laughed quietly. "Quite the turn of phrase, there. And I see how you mean, but... my scars are not her demon to fight. Yours, either, for that matter."

"Can't we help relieve a bit of pressure? You can-"

"No," she said firmly, startling herself into silence. Albus waited for her to clear her throat and continue in a softer voice. "Thank you, Albus, I appreciate that more than you could imagine, but... n-no. That yolk belongs to myself and no one else. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, much less my friends."

No thought had finished forming before she strode quickly from the spot and up a nearby staircase, arms folded tightly to her chest; he didn't even have time to call out to her before she was most likely out of earshot.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why does she insist on closing herself off from everybody? Does she have to be so difficult?"

"Nature of the beast," remarked a portrait of a rotund wizard in Slytherin colours. "Go figure women, am I right, lad?"

Albus scarcely spared him a glance. "Oh, get out of it."

"Hmph!" The man scowled. "Don't know why I bother proffering my wisdom to the youth of today. All got maggots in their ears, I say."

_END Chapter Forty-Five_


	46. Unseasonably Chill

The temperature was far below normal for June on a dark Wednesday morning during Albus Potter's second week of O.W.L.s. For all their fretting and cramming, the mental strain that bled into physical, he was sure he'd fared more or less well in all his subjects (save Divination, which no amount of optimism could convince him he'd managed anything higher than an A). Only Potions remained, which he and Rose would be sitting that afternoon. The thought seemed to put Rose on edge, but Albus was going into this with his head held high.

"Lucky Albiekins," she shot at him nastily as she poured over her Potions textbook over breakfast. "Dryden's pet. All you need do is smile and you'll net yourself an O."

"Don't be thick," Lily admonished from nearby. "Even if Dryden favours him, it'll have little impact on his mark; Ministry wizards will be judging his performance."

"Too true," Jezabel agreed, and James nodded along with her. This didn't seem to make Rose feel any better. Albus was about to laugh at her expression when he noticed the post owls making their way through the Great Hall - and as he'd hoped, a medium-sized package was nearing them.

"Thanks," he said flatly when it knocked his pumpkin juice to the floor, narrowly missing his lap.

"Shouldn't Hagrid be doing something about their aim?" Rose snapped. "Every single time, our breakfast gets trodden in, or else flattened. It's a disgrace!"

"Whatcha got there?" Ryan asked keenly. "Tell me it's powdered dragon claw - _cor,_ I'd trade my left-"

"It's not," Albus scoffed. "And never you mind."

They all looked at him expectantly, but he simply tucked it away in his bag and turned a deaf ear to their pleadings.

Professor Abbott mostly let her students chatter or else study in class, as their examinations in her subject was now behind them. Albus exploited this opportunity to badger Rose into confirming a few plans.

"We're going to look tapped."

He shrugged, sitting back and setting down his textbook. "I know, but... well, how else would you go about it?"

"You're making a molehill into a mountain _range,_ " she insisted. "Just hand it over and say, 'Enjoy in good health'."

"No, no, no! After everything? I really don't think so - and I don't think the meaning will translate if we don't do it this way."

"See?" she laughed, watching Professor Abbott apparently press Ryan for an indication of how well he'd done in his Transfiguration O.W.L. "An explanation is needed - which means the whole idea was needlessly complicated from the beginning. Told you as much."

His patience was wearing thin. "Fine. It's needlessly complicated, and you think I'm a git. Are you going to do it anyway?"

"Of course I am," she said airily. "Just making my protests known."

He scowled at her, only resisting the urge to hex her because she hadn't refused to participate. "Duly noted. Now, do you remember what a bezoar does?"

o o o

"Lily said you wanted to meet me here?"

Not for the first time did Rose glance at Albus as if she'd much prefer he binned the entire plan and claimed their intentions were to hold a makeshift Gobstones tournament instead. However, the mild and pleasant smile on her face did not betray her true emotions. Albus silently thanked her for being so understanding.

"Hey, Jezabel," he said. "Got something for you."

Her dark eyes flicked back to the corridor for a moment, as if calculating an escape route, before she let the tapestry fall closed behind her. "Oh? What is it?"

Though the phrase 'enjoy in good health' flashed through his mind, he opted for a simple "Here."

It took a few seconds for her to move beyond staring at the lumpy package in her hands, and another minute atop that for her to work the strings loose and open it. Once she had...

"Yep," Rose said in a low voice. "It's a Grandmum original, all right, down to the garish colouring."

 _"Shh!"_ Albus hissed at her.

"Um... it's a sweater," Jezabel said confusedly. "Er, I mean- thank you, it's quite lovely, but- I'm sorry, I don't understand. Why are you giving it to me?"

"Perhaps this'll help."

Jezabel seemed horrified beyond words for a moment as they jerked their robes over their heads, but once she'd seen they were clothed underneath she relaxed and focused. "Ahh... you have them, as well?"

"Happy Birthday, Jezabel," said Rose, unable to stop herself. "You've just been Weasley-Sweatered."

"But it's n- not... oh, Albus," she sighed, frowning at him. "I told you, you needn't get me a thing. Why would you go-"

"It's got a 'J' on it," he headed her off. "And I asked Grandmum to make it in red and green, y'know, because of the dual-House thing, and-"

"Right," Rose laughed. "And now it's Christmassey."

"-and your skirt," he continued over her. "The one you were wearing on the Express, remember?"

For a long moment, nobody spoke. Rose's lips were pursed, as she was most certainly exercising more restraint than she ever had before in their lives. Jezabel, however, was staring mutely at her gift as if unsure it were real. Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, he took the approach he'd been saving for plan B.

"You don't have to, y'know, wear it or anything. Most of the family gets them and they end up in the bottom of our trunks, or-"

"Told you she wouldn't get it," Rose hissed.

"Shut _up,_ Rose."

"She's not a Weasley," she continued doggedly, folding her arms over her chest. "Pushing such a ghastly artifact off on someone outside the family is sheer cruelty. Mind you, they are toasty, but to be caught dead in-"

"You shouldn't have."

The words stirred hope in Albus's chest, but when he saw the particular brand of tears in her eyes, it ceased to stir. "Jez-"

"No, y-you- no. No, Albus, you shouldn't have." And as easily as that, she disappeared through the tapestry.

Rose blinked. "Merlin."

It was all Albus could do to keep from punching someone square in the jaw - and at the moment he might not have minded at all that Rose was the only target in sight. "She hated it. Why didn't I listen to you? I could see it in her eyes, she wanted to throw it right back in my face."

"She hated _something,_ " she conceded. "But... that was an awful lot of reaction for such a small thing. Sorry Al, but it looks like you've given the lead balloon."

o o o

Albus and Rose went back to studying, but his heart was no longer in it. Though he hadn't been sure she'd enjoy the sweater as much as he'd hoped, her very evident hatred of it baffled him. At worst, he'd expected pity and disappointment in her eyes as she was polite enough to thank him for it, privately planning to burn it at the first chance. For some reason, however, she looked almost _angry_ with him. Why? What false move had he made?

"Tart up, Al," Rose gusted after she finally coaxed this from him. "You gave her a present that only reminds her of how twisted her own family life is."

"That's not what I-"

"It very clearly did, though. Meanwhile, here we are, the widespread Potter-Weasley amalgum, gathering round a bonfire every Christmas and laughing it up. I reckon her Yule was spent locked away in her own room, reading through her seventh year curriculum."

Slowly, Albus began to nod as he soaked this up. "You think that's what all this is about?"

"Bet you a Sickle."

"Done. I'd gladly pay it if only to find out for sure."

o o o

Albus's palms were sweating as he waited in the small antechamber for what seemed like the thousandth time, waiting for what he hoped would be one of his easiest examinations thus far. What were they going to demand of him? He went over the ingredients and steps for all the potions they'd brewed over the past year in his head, remembering clearly his mistakes and how he'd corrected them. Suddenly, his mind blanked - what was monkshood again? When he saw Catherine Orchard stumble over her own feet as she hurried toward the door, he realized his time had come.

He needn't have worked himself up over it. Minutes into his examination, he knew he had it sewn up; the Befuddlement Draught was more or less on par with the one he'd brewed earlier in the year, though he suspected he'd added a pinch too much sneezewort. However, even if it were true he more than made up for it with a model Draught of Peace, which the excitable young Ministry witch sampled and immediately sat back, a serene, transported expression on her face.

"Mmm, yes, well done, young man," she sighed, dimples appearing in her cheeks as she grinned at him and flicked her wand at his cauldron. " _Evanesco._ You're dismissed."

"Whew," he told Ryan Macmillan once he'd found him out in the corridor, resisting a strong urge to do a handspring across the entrance hall. "Thought I was going to sweat straight through my robes."

"I may have," he grunted, running a hand through his hair. "What a nightmare! Still, glad to have done with all of this 'til next term. Oh, it'll be grand to actually _sleep_ tonight."

"Know how you mean. Seems like Puerilis there doesn't feel at all proud of his performance." Albus nodded over at where Logan was slumped against a random stretch of wall, clutching his stomach as if his lunch no longer liked its new habitat. Thinking back to how he felt less than an hour ago, he sympathised.

Ryan let out a blast of laughter. "Oh, I'd wager he isn't. Bad enough he had to suffer through his practical with old Lewis in the same room, they set him the old Befuddlement, and he botched it beyond all recognition. Didn't you hear the bang?"

"What bang?" His eyes went wide; he'd been too engrossed in recalling everything he'd ever learned to listen for any sounds from the next room. "You don't mean it exploded!"

"Like Tunguska. They were still trying to Tergeo a load of bluish muck off the walls when I was called in." As he sighed, the impish grin on his face faded to a hollow look. "The bloke asked me to do an Invigoration Draught, but he didn't act at all invigorated - and between you and I, he could do with a teaspoonful in his daily regime. Bit peaky."

"Really?" Now that the stress of it all was far, far behind them (at least until the owls delivered their marks over the summer), he settled in for a healthy exchange on what now had to be his best subject. "Did you remember to add-"

They were cut short by Atticus Malkin pushing his way roughly between them as he headed for the steps into the dungeons, cheeks flushed.

"Atticus, wait!"

When they turned, Genevieve Nott and Scorpius Malfoy were bearing down on them with incredible speed. Acting before he could think, his wand was out and pointed right at Scorpius's throat. "Hold it!"

"Put that away, Potter!" he snapped, though he at least had the decency to divert his attention to his would-be attacker. "You're likely to curse yourself, _and_ anyone else in the room!"

"If anyone's guilty of shoddy spellwork, it's the three of you!"

Glancing over Scorpius's shoulder, he saw Dryden bearing down on all four of them. With a frightened squeak, Genevieve managed to slip through them and make for the first floor, where Albus suspected she might end up commiserating with Moaning Myrtle.

"Sir, please!" Scorpius pleaded, and the tiny spot of colouring that had returned from Albus's interruption faded again from his features. "We did our absolute best, really, it's just been such a trying year, what with all-"

"I didn't care to hear your excuses before, and neither have I developed an unhealthy curiosity for them since!" the man thundered, crooked nose wrinkling up as if Scorpius was hiding dragon dung in his pockets. "How can you shame not only your Potions Master, but your Head of House with this unprecedented level of ineptitude? I looked on as Malkin put an _orchid_ in his Shrinking Solution! Imagine, fouling up a Shrinking Solution in your O.W.L.s! And Malfoy, if I _ever_ hear you mixed up your pomegranate juice and salamander blood again-"

"Yes, sir, of course!" the boy kowtowed, actually dipping his head subserviently. "I only- well, Genevieve didn't mean to use a toad liver past its expiry, there was no time for her to run and find a fresh-"

 _"Silence!"_ After several quick, sucking breaths through his flared nostrils, their Potions Master seemed to recover a bit of stability. "I ought to set this trio of trolls detentions through their sixth year for such abysmal benightedness, but alas, I daresay their results shall be punishment enough. Congratulations to you, Potter." The switching of gears caused Albus to nearly drop his wand. "Carmina tells me you utterly sparkled in there. Glad to hear it."

And with that, he stormed out onto the grounds.

"Thought you were giving Genevieve the cold shoulder of late," Ryan said to Malfoy. "Sounds almost as if you were defending her honour. Spring has sprung, eh?"

"Keep your nose out, Macmillan," Scorpius growled, too deflated by his Head of House's tirade to properly ignore the Gryffindor. "She's had a bad enough time of it this year, hasn't she? And she's already mad enough at me without me snubbing her, as well. Mostly your fault anyway, Perfect Prefect Potter the Potions Prodigy."

Albus felt his eyebrows raise - both at the sudden accusation and the cringe-worthy alliteration. "What?"

"Don't give me that innocent-baby-sucking-at-a-dummy song and dance." Now, he looked truly angry. "You think my ears don't work? It was _you_ who tattled on her and the others, landed them in hot water. Just because they got together for a game of Scourge the Scurvy."

"You weren't there," Albus spat at him, dander instantly up. "You didn't see the deplorable things they were doing to-"

"No, I _wasn't_ there! Why would I be? Flogging some reedy blood traitor within an inch of her life? Cor, it's a genuine shame I wasn't there to get bits of her on my shoes!" His white-blond head shook from side to side, thousand-yard stare directed toward the front doors. "Not sure what they were thinking... a bit of fun at a tea shop is one thing, but there comes a point when it's just... nauseating."

And on that note, Scorpius wandered toward the first floor, as if he hadn't truly comprehended that he was speaking to them at all.

"I'll be damned," Ryan remarked, which made Albus laugh half-heartedly. "A Slytherin thinks there's such a thing as too far?"

"Suppose it has to happen once in a-"

But again, they were interrupted by one of the Great Hall's double-doors slamming open. Albus had only intended to spare this the briefest glance, but when he saw Jezabel pelting their way, tears streaming down her cheeks, he became much more concerned.

"Hey, wait, wait!" he whispered urgently, catching her shoulders just before she could barrel past them and up the stairs. "What's going on?"

"Should have known, Albus," she choked out. "Should have kn-known I couldn't go out, couldn't be out!"

"Come again?"

A long, thin finger brushed past her nose hurriedly before she glanced up at him. "I haven't come that far at all, have I? My life is a treadmill, it's not- there's no real progress, just illusions of such, and I give in, I believe, which makes me weak, so weak and unready for-"

"Shhh," he soothed, stroking her shoulder and glancing at Ryan for help. Unfortunately, his bunkmate's face was full of discomfort and void of anything useful. "Take it easy, one step at a time. What's happened?"

"Nothing," she sighed, still sniffling. "Only... really be grateful when this term ends. And Professor Dryden- he- oh, I wish he'd get sacked!"

Perhaps Albus was distracted by such an unbridled burst of emotion from the queen of introverts; displaying the kind of deftness he'd have expected from a Snidget, one moment she was still crying with his hands on her shoulders, and the next he found she was halfway up the staircase. He couldn't remember sensing any movement between. It was only then he remembered she was still being stand-offish due to the sweater.

"What- that was- how did she-"

"Yeah," Albus muttered.

Ryan laughed harshly, still shaking his head. "Why in Merlin's name didn't you make _her_ play the last game of the season in my place? You'd have won it in seconds flat!"

o o o

Though Albus asked nearly everyone in his House, no one had seen hide nor hair of Miss Skirrow the rest of the evening. This began to unnerve him after a few hours, but he couldn't convince Rose to muster the slightest worrisome frown.

"She's always disappearing like that," Rose scoffed into her Butterbeer. James had produced a goodly stash of drinks and snacks from nowhere, and all the fifth- and seventh-years were gratefully ploughing through them and laughing all memory of daunting examinations away. Even Barty was permitting himself a short break from demanding they pick up all their sweet wrappers, curled up near the fireplace with a cup of hot tea and a book of some sort. "Or have you forgotten? Sure, she's been doing better ever since you took a stroll down Memory Lane and cleared out the Mentacles, but it doesn't mean she's an entirely different person. She'll come round."

"But what did Dryden _do?_ " he insisted, swatting away the Golden Snitch that James had nicked and brought to their common room. He also had a sneaking suspicion he or someone else had enchanted it to be rather fond of his younger brother, as he couldn't seem to find a moment's peace away from its fluttering. "Had to have been something truly awful for her to fall apart like that."

Only now did Rose's euphoria seem to flag. "Granted, yes, I would like to get him alone in a dark room for a few minutes... but still, I say you're worried over nothing. Jezabel will tell us all about it herself when she's ready, and it's probably no great travesty."

"You'd better be right about this." Finally, he snaked a hand out and caught the pestering gold ball, and he heard a few Gryffindors whoop and clap from the other side of the common room. Maybe they thought him a showoff, but the wings kept passing too near his nose, and he didn't fancy sneezing for the rest of the night.

It was this that caused him to grow weary of the celebration; though the remainder of term would be light and carefree, he could not ignore the fact that the rest of his life would continue its complex, aggravating march in the face of it. Toasting their health and playing Exploding Snap somehow felt disrespectful.

"I'm going down to Hagrid's," he announced suddenly, standing up and tossing the Snitch he'd been holding onto the table, where it bounced off and flew away. "Want to come?"

Rose glanced over at where Elizabeth Larkins and Martin Finnegan were laughing at something in a book, then back at the drawn features of her cousin. "Yeah, all right. Bet he'll want to hear how we've done on our O.W.L.s."

o o o

"Now she says she wants _children,_ " Hagrid grunted around a mouthful of scone. "Well, I says back, 'Olympe, tha'll be about the biggest - and I do mean _BIGGEST_ mistake a bloke and a lady could ever make!'"

They had been in the tiny, warm hut for well over an hour, Albus knew. There was no clock nearby, and he wasn't wearing a watch, but he could feel the passage of time. The restlessness grew in his legs as he continued to worry over not only Jezabel, but whether or not it was only his students' lack of ability causing Professor Dryden to lash out at everything that moved.

"She says I'm scared o' th' responsibility, but _pah!_ I look after hundreds o' children - sorry, you two - every day! But offspring o' me own..."

"Ahh, come on, Hagrid," Rose laughed. "You don't want a bouncing baby half-giant?"

" _NO!_ " he boomed, setting down his tankard. "Heavens ter betsy, it was hard enough bein' one meself - and hell on my poor dad! Don' reckon it'd be wise forcin' another one o' me on th' wizarding world! Now, sure, if I knew it'd come out more like Olympe I'd be a bit more likely ter think abou' it, but there's no knowin', is there? Yeh can' control summat like tha', and I'll not take me chances!"

"Why do you keep talking like you're a hurricane?" Albus put in. "Everybody loves you. And Grawp, well, even he can be tolerated in small doses, and he's a full-blood giant!"

A colossal hand waved the words away, even as his cheeks reddened - though that may have been the brandy he'd slipped into his tea. "Ahh, yeh do go on. Even so, I got nowhere ter raise 'im, even if I did get th' idea in my thick head I could. Nah - think I'm better off livin' a bachelor's life, seein' my lady friend off an' on when I can. Thinkin' abou' movin' in with her, or visitation rights an' the lot'd on'y muddle up th' parts of me head that're still clear!"

It was another fifteen or twenty minutes from then that Hagrid announced he had to go into the forest and sort out some mess or other with the giant spiders that lived there. On the way up to the castle, Albus confided in Rose that he was feeling a bit down, and she nearly made him re-ingest the words.

"Can't you perk up for a minute or two?" she demanded. "We're free until the start of sixth year! Ryan's not stuck in a monocle, nor is it stuck to my face! No new students have died! Sure, Jezzy's in a right state, but I bet when she resurfaces we'll all have a laugh and life as we know it will shift back toward normalcy. Now stop bellyaching!"

"Fine," he grunted, pulling a Fizzing Whizbee from his bag and stuffing it into his mouth. "Be that way."

"Aren't you going to share?" She frowned when he didn't answer. "Why are you carrying your bag around, anyway? What use have we got for schoolbooks?"

"No schoolbooks in here," he said with a shrug. "Just... got some things in here I'd like to keep on me at all times now."

Her arms were crossed; he knew she'd react this way. "Such as?"

"Such as your old Extendable Ears," he admitted. "You never know..."

"I'll give you that," she said with an air of superiority. "What else?"

"Oh, get out of it," he ordered, shoving a Fizzing Whizbee in her hand. "Useful, see?"

"That's what I figured; mostly sweets. So predictable, Al."

"Shut up."

And they were pushing open the doors into the castle at last. Neither of them expected to see the house elf sprinting from the dungeons, headed straight for the kitchen corridor. Glancing at each other briefly, Albus called out, "Hey, wait up!"

The elf skidded to a halt. With a start, he put the bulbous nose with a memory and saw it was the same one Professor Longbottom had called for so very long ago. "No, no, sirs, I can't be waiting, I- must be going back to the kitchens, it's-"

"What's wrong?" Rose said gently, stooping slightly. "Why didn't you just Apparate?"

"What? Oh..." The diminutive creature looked embarrassed now. "Well, what we is seeing, guess we was forgetting about magic completely... _ooh,_ it was terrible, awful! But there's cleaning to be done, and we must be getting back, we must!"

She raised a hand to snap her fingers; Albus knew that was how they performed the non-wizarding magic that teleported them from place to place. "Wait, wait! Before you go... can you tell me what you saw?"

"Dreadful scene... too dreadful, don't think we should be telling anybody..."

"Spit it out already," Rose snapped.

With one fearful glance about the entrance hall, as if expecting to see a disapproving Headmistress lurking in the shadows, she leaned in and said, "Well, it's the Potions Master, sir and ma'am. He's been... killed!"

_END Chapter Forty-Six_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go, then! This is it, leading into the final leg of our story! All right, must get moving along - busy day of chores (urghhh). TTYS!


	47. Seeing Pink

Hogwarts Castle was an ancient building. It had stood as a testament to higher education for all of wizardkind for centuries upon centuries, playing host to some of the greatest minds and highest achievers. It held as many mysteries within its sacred walls as any such site would. That was why, when the tiny house-elf told Albus that one of his professors had been killed without warning, he at first thought it was some kind of illusion.

He also thought the way the stones beneath his feet were swaying could be the castle pulling a prank on him.

"No, he isn't," Rose scoffed, eyes wide. "You've seen something wrong, or you've been in the cups."

"Winky _hasn't_ been drinking!" she hissed angrily. "Winky has given it up, no more, no more! Winky knows what she is seeing, miss! The Potions Master is down there, sprawled on the ground and blood all over hisself, and- and then we saw- _ooh,_ it's too awful, don't make Winky think about it anymore!"

Albus swallowed, pulse already quickening. It wasn't in a house-elf's nature to lie about anything; though he knew Kreacher was capable of hedging around the truth now and again, even a senile old elf such as he usually stuck to facts when his master called. Being that every witch and wizard in the castle was Winky's master, she couldn't be lying to them or the magical enchantments that bound her kind would cause her to throw herself into the nearest fireplace.

"Where?"

"In his office, sir," she whispered, scarpering off to the kitchens in a flurry of sobs before either of them could stop her.

"How d'you like that?" Rose straightened, rubbing her cheek with one thumb. "Odd little thing, but... you reckon a word of it's true?"

"I reckon all of it is... or she _thinks_ it is, leastways."

"Should we get a teacher? Sprout, even?"

"Hmm... no, not yet." Pulling a face, he took a hesitant step toward the dungeons. "What if Winky _has_ gone mad? We don't want to stir them up into a whirlwind without any proof."

"Point, there." Even so, she did not join him in his walk. "But Al... what if it _is_ true, and we're about to bump into a murderer or something?"

"We can't _not_ go! If we just go on up to bed and let one of the other students find him in the morning, by the time the teachers get down there, the trail will be stone cold!" He caught his breath for a moment before continuing, "So we'll go down, see if he's really, y'know... and then if he is, we'll go get Longbottom, I should think. He'll come, he'll believe us."

Rose didn't look nearly as convinced. "Or he'll give us the benefit of a doubt, at least."

Their footfalls echoed off the walls as they descended into the dungeons. His palms were sweating again; what would they find? Would they find anything? If they didn't, did it mean the house-elf had been deceived... or that the culprit had decided it prudent to cover their tracks? When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end; something had most definitely happened. All was not right beneath Hogwarts.

"D'you hear...?"

Albus nodded; a slight creak. Dryden's office door was ajar, and an eerie light was seeping from the crack. That seemed like a clue. Albus drew his wand, and taking this as a cue Rose did the same. Slowly, hearts in throats, they approached the door and eased it open.

Albus was not ready to see Dryden's mangled body, red pooling beneath him as he lay on the flagstones. He wasn't ready to see Nearly-Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron, mad, popping expressions in place as they loomed over the scene. But the thing he was least ready for in the world was to see Jezabel Skirrow standing over him, arms crossed over her chest and wand poking out from below her left elbow.

"What...?"

She looked up. "Ahh... there you are, Albus. What kept you?"

He glanced over at Rose, to see what she could make of this, but words were apparently not in high supply for either of them. "Jezabel, er, what's going on?"

A cold, sinister smile blossomed on her lips - one that he would never have expected to envision set in those features had it not appeared there. As he almost knew before she had raised her head, a thick curtain of hair hid her eyes from his, but even still he felt he could see them blazing through it as if by way of some sixth or seventh sense.

"Come on," Rose spoke up. "So... so you found him like this. Did you see anyb-"

"How sweet," she tittered, wandless hand at her mouth. "My friends, willing to believe anything over their own eyes for my sake. No, I'm afraid not."

Albus struggled for another explanation. "Then... were you told, as we were?"

"Hmph." She shook her head. "I knew I should have used a Tongue-Tying Curse on that damned elf. You caught up with her and wrung every ounce of information out of her you could, eh? Eavesdropping little wart."

This painted a very simple, irrefutable picture for Albus, but he refused to believe it. There had to be more, or something had to be a lie. Unluckily, Jezabel spoke aloud his thoughts for him.

"Right about now, you're saying, 'Oh no, this can't be right! Jezabel, she was such a good Gryffindor once she got in! Who cares that her mother was a Dark witch? Who cares that if the Battle of Hogwarts had gone differently, she might be serving Lord Voldemort this very day? The indomitable power of love can squash that lingering Slytherin nastiness right out of her, and then she'll be right as rain!'" A loud, high cackle erupted from her throat, and her head tilted back to allow it to come to full boil. "What easy marks you all were! Once I figured out the Sorting Hat would, in the end, put me wherever I wanted, I just asked it to put me where I could hide in plain sight! I had you all so tightly wound around my finger, didn't I?"

"How?" Rose squeaked. "What- but why would you-"

"To get away from _them,_ " she growled, throat constricted with fury. "Not that I fancy your lot, either, but Malfoy, Goyle and Nott? They turn my stomach, pretending to be so Dark and brooding, and all the while they're cowardly, whinging drops of nothing. Gryffindor's ingrained altruism may cause me to retch as well, but at least your House members have moxie."

For the first time since entering the room, Albus forced his eyes to the floor. Wide crimson slashes were ripped right across Dryden's chest and neck, leaving his robes in tatters, and he was far more pale than usual. Odder still were the burning tracks along them; could she really turn around something that had caused her such agony and use it on another living thing? In spite of the gory, disquieting site, however, Albus couldn't help but find it strange that his arms and legs were held so close to his body; had Jezabel been repositioning him after she killed him?

She killed him. It was true, it had to be - and yet his mind would not accept that. Too much had gone on, the year filled with too much of her being so shy, so mindful and determined not to hurt or inconvenience anyone. He'd been in her house, and she in his. Once, just upstairs in the entrance hall, she and she alone had saved him from certain death. His cousin had scrubbed her down in the prefects' bath, and been there when they were caught up in an unexpected duel with their Slytherin peers. The three of them had also been together when they watched Jezabel's mother breathe her last...

Albus had literally been _inside_ her mind, and now he was expected to believe she would willingly murder one of their teachers?

Even so, when he looked up again to see the sneer on her lips, he knew it was her. She didn't look indistinct or transparent, he couldn't feel any magics coming from her - though he didn't know if he could pick up on it if there were. This was Bellatrix Lestrange's daughter standing in front of him. Whether or not she truly was playing to her lineage...

"I haven't got all day," she yawned, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "Should you like to be killed now, or strangled in your sleep? I believe I could have one of my ghosts drop your entire bed into the lake, and then the giant squid can play with you to his heart's content."

"You're mental," said Rose in low, guttural tones. "You're a m-monster!"

"Am I?" she demanded, wand trained on her throat now. Rose staggered back a step when the Bloody Baron advanced on her, hands outstretched and jaw wide. "In a school where you are persecuted, maligned and belittled at every turn? _I'm_ the one who needs to apologise for growing _tired_ of being _NOTHING?"_

Albus's bones felt like jelly. Everything had suddenly gone so wrong, and the world would never be the same if this was the truth. Some part of his heart, perhaps a larger one than he cared to admit, had bound the Slytherin-cum-Gryffindor to itself and could never let go. The most disquieting part was, he knew even if she had become a ruthless killer, that part would continue to hold on for dear life until he destroyed it himself. She was his friend, now and forevermore, come what may.

Even if she wanted to see him dead.

"Do it now," he ordered flatly.

"Al!" Rose hissed, eyes wide and fearful even as salty tears leaked down her cheeks.

"Really?" Jezabel's brow furrowed, though her smile remained in place. "No stay of execution for the martyr? Here and now, quick and easy?"

"Yeah, quick and easy. I wonder if it will be. But do it before I send up red sparks and bring Longbottom and Peele thundering in on us."

Panic began to grip his stomach as she rolled up her sleeves, but he bit down on it; losing his head could cost both of them their lives. Rose, for her own sake, whipped out her wand and shouted, "You touch a hair on his head, and so help me, I _will_ use an Unforgivable Curse on you - because 'unforgivable' is where it'll put you! Completely, utterly beyond redemption!"

"Ooh," she jeered, waving her hands in front of her in a mockery of the fear both he and his cousin were struggling under. "I'm positively aquiver. I'm a year ahead, and far more learned. What can you possibly do against me?"

That is when Albus began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Jezabel asked, eyes narrowing. "Is this some sort of nervous fit?"

"Your nose," he snickered, stepping forward. Her wand snapped up, but she did nothing more as he traced a finger along it beyond going cross-eyed. "I suppose it looks more normal now, but... Merlin, guess I just got used to that, cos _now_ you look silly this way."

"Stop it," she growled. "I don't even know what you're talking about - and get away from my nose!"

"What were you going to do?" he pressed, leaning in and glaring through her oily tresses. "When your surrogate family found out you weren't in Slytherin anymore? They'd have thrown you out on your bum."

He sensed more than saw Rose's puzzled look, but he could only pray Jezabel was more focused on the Weasley family member directly in her face. Luckily, this seemed to be true. "Er... I suspect I'd have moved into my new abode. Inherited a beautiful estate from my dearly departed Death Eater, didn't I?"

"Pah."

"'Pah'?" Now she was getting annoyed, and the wandtip grinding into his chin displayed this perfectly. "Really? You don't agree somehow? I _am_ of age, I can take up residence anywhere I choose!"

"Yes," he spat angrily, "but _not_ in this body. Now get _OUT!"_

Both girls were looking at him as if he'd had a swig or two of Firewhiskey before their confrontation. Much to his supreme satisfaction, however, he knew one of those reactions was being feigned. "Come again?" Jezabel asked him.

"So clever, but not clever enough." He pressed his advantage. "'Permission is not mine until-' until _what,_ Jezabel? Just fill in the blank, and I'll willingly take whatever you can dish out!"

"Until _now!_ " she screamed into his face. "Stay back, or I'll hex you!"

The room was silent for several seconds. Then Jezabel twitched, and he took the opportunity to shoot both hands out and jerk her hair aside, revealing the eyes she had so determinedly cloaked from the world all her life.

Glowing pink irises burned with indignation.

"You are altogether busted."

"Oh," Rose gasped behind him, horrified and relieved all at once.

"Let go of my hair."

Albus grinned. "Or what?"

_"Depulso!"_

Rushing wind assaulted his eardrums, and without warning he found he was colliding with one of their late professor's many shelves; to his dismay, at least three jars of various contents broke over his head and shoulders, raining thick liquids and other less-than-savoury items onto his person. Though his skull felt as if it may split open, the pain did not overtake his senses, and he stood again.

"Go ahead," he grunted, pushing a slimy something from his robe's sleeve. "Kill me, if you can. I don't think you will, anyway. Haven't got the stones."

"Oh, no?" she snapped, even as Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington scowled down at him. "We'll see! Av- _Avad-_ "

And past this, she could speak no further. Her free hand clutched at her throat, and her teeth gritted, but not even the first syllable of the other word sprang from her lips. At last, she stopped, panted, and screamed, _"STUPEFY!"_

Brilliant scarlet filled his vision. Then the dungeon went yet darker, until all was blackness.

o o o

"Come _on,_ Al, this is no time to play up the dramatics!"

Dandelions raced each other. A panther ate all of them. Why couldn't the purple mosquito know how its drinking problem affected the children? The children of the bucket people?

"For the love of Mer- _Rennervate!"_

Albus was awake, and his cranium was less than happy about it. Groaning, he clawed his way up Professor Dryden's shelves, slipping on the coating of slime the flagstones now bore. "R... Rose?"

"There we go," she laughed tightly, as if she'd been awake for days and had several strong cups of tea to compensate. "Now, let's get you up to the hospital wing, where-"

"What happened to Jezabel?" he demanded, cotton-wrapped tongue refusing to make speech easy for him. "Where'd she go?"

"Er... gone, Al." Rose took in a shuddering breath. "After she knocked you out, I, er... well, I sent my own Stunner at her, and I was rather angry so I think it was rather, er, potent."

He frowned at her even as he clutched at the dampened crown of his head. "You didn't blow a hole through her stomach or something, did you?"

"Don't be thick," she retorted. "Well, it hit her, and blew her back into his desk-" she indicated how askew Dryden's desk was from its usual resting spot "-and put her lights out, true enough. Except then... well, let's just say you had the size and shape of the situation, all right."

Blood was on his palm when he pulled it away, but it wasn't a lot; he'd survive. "Peeves, wasn't it?"

"Yep." Hesitantly, they wove around Dryden's corpse and Rose - possibly against sound reasoning - deposited him in a chair instead of leading him straight to Madam Pomfrey. "She'd scarcely slid to the floor when he came bursting from her head and bowled me onto my jacksie. Ended up with some book lying open on my face. By the time I'd righted myself, all three ghosts and Jezabel had vanished like they were never here."

" _Damn_ it!" he swore, trying to stand only to have Rose force him back down. "Hey, what are-"

"You took a Stunner in the _face,_ Al," she told him gravely, eyes wide. "Is it terribly bright for you to be moving at all right now?"

"Get my schoolbag, then," he panted, forced to admit she was right; he needed to recover some strength before mounting his next harebrained rescue. "I... and my wand, it ended up over there. I don't even remember dropping it..."

When all his things were in his lap, he yanked the yellowed parchment out of his bag and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"Right," Rose breathed, "that's _perfect_ \- if we find one of them, we find them all!"

Except that didn't prove as easy as they'd hoped. Nearly-Headless Nick was in the Gryffindor Common room, which hinted at absolutely no unusual behaviour. Similarly, the Baron was in the Armory, speaking with the Grey Lady (or else just looking at the ancient suits of metal; the map couldn't tell him for certain what they were doing). However, neither Peeves nor Jezabel Skirrow were anywhere on the map.

"Huh," she said from over his shoulder.

"I agree - that doesn't make any sense. How can Peeves not be on the map? He can't leave Hogwarts, can he?"

"Maybe he can." When Albus only looked up at her, a single eyebrow raised, she shrugged. "Well, come on - Peeves isn't a ghost, he's a poltergeist. There's a subtle difference in there somewhere, yeah? What if poltergeists _can_ leave their haunts, and they don't only because it's in their nature to find one place to spread discord and anarchy and stick to it?"

"But someone - or some _thing_ \- is now controlling Peeves," he said, catching up with her line of thinking. "Possibly from down in Hogsmeade, or even farther away. He can control the ghosts in the castle, too, but he can't make them leave."

Rose's voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned closer. "The chimaera. Dryden kept talking to Peele about this - what do they know?"

"Not much, now," Albus said regrettably, glancing over at their former Potions Master. His eyes began to sting as he thought about how the man, however gruff and undiplomatic he could be, had exulted over his performance in his O.W.L. Oh, if only his eyes would narrow sternly at him once again...

Wait.

"Merlin," he breathed, "did you see that?"

Rose blinked. "What? Flaming Doxy droppings, there's not _more_ coming to kill us, are there?"

"No, he- Dryden's eyes moved!"

Both knelt on the floor, faces inches from the man's. His skin was still cold and clammy, the burning, oozing wounds were beginning to reek with an unholy stench, but Albus had not hallucinated; the man's seemingly-vacant pupils were flicking between their faces.

"He's alive?" Rose's nose wrinkled. "Even after all this, he's not dead? _Cor,_ how much of a beating do you have to take before you snuff it?"

"Get Madam Pomfrey," Albus ordered, still too weak to even make it back to the chair. "I'll stay with him. Hurry!"

o o o

By the time Professor Dryden's office had been packed to the brim with Professors Longbottom, Peele and the matron, Albus had stowed the Marauder's Map, rummaged through the contents of his bag and bolted down two Chocolate Frogs, which left his stomach hopping unsteadily but the rest of him feeling decidedly less faint. With no other recourse after this, he cast Episkey and Tergeo on the wounds, hoping to do some nominal good or at least staunch the flow, but they only closed the barest amount. Madam Pomfrey only just stopped his hand as it hovered over the man, unstoppered bottle of dittany from Dryden's stores clutched tightly. She seemed pleased with his knowledge of its use, but told him not to waste such a precious resource before she could apply her own substantial mediwitch prowess.

Rose and Albus waited outside the doorway while they worked, listening to angered shouts and worried gasps. It was quite cold this far below ground level, and when Rose began shivering he drew her into a tight, clutching embrace. Perhaps he also needed to feel the warmth of the living when death lingered so near. His shoulder may have been dampened by her eyes, but that didn't matter much.

Finally, Professor Longbottom exited the office and heaved a sigh. "Well."

"Well what?" he asked, Rose pulling away and swiping at her face. "Is he-"

"Fine, I should think," the man told them, even though his eyes spoke of more. "Stopped the bleeding. It was the Full Body-Bind, just as you surmised, Miss Weasley. Good Lord, but that brings back memories." A bleak smile pulled at his lips for a brief second before falling away. "Few days rest, lots of nourishment. Should pull through. Professor Weasley can handle what's left of-"

Rose's jaw slackened. "Sh-should?"

"Yes. But you must tell us what you saw," he urged. "Who or whatever has done this must have quite an agenda."

"Peeves," Rose chimed in. When she could see the doubt evident in his features, she continued, "It's true! Saw it with our own four eyes - well, Al got Stunned, but he saw it too, before. Nick and the Baron were there, too, but I guess they were just for show or something."

Longbottom's eyebrow hiked upward, and he drew back as he crossed his arms. "For show? I don't understand - do you two know something the staff doesn't?"

Neither fifth-year answered.

"If you do," he continued, as if they had denied everything aloud, "you'd best present your evidence now, while whoever has been doing this - and I should highly doubt it's Miss Dunsmore now that she's in Azkaban - has so recently struck again."

"It could still be Dorika," Albus said heavily. "Acting from outside Hogwarts."

"But - oh, right," Rose said, eyes widening. He knew that to mean she'd remembered Jezabel and Peeves dropping off the face of the map, but she told Longbottom, "and now, nobody'd suspect her, would they? It's the perfect cover!"

"One thing is certain," Longbottom told them, smiling much wider now. "I, for one, no longer count our Potions Master among the suspects. Though a near-deadly attack on onesself might be a brilliant strategem..."

"You could end up actually dying from it," Albus finished for him.

Rose, apparently, wasn't convinced. "I dunno. He might still be caught up in all this, if not the mastermind."

Longbottom considered this for a moment, then placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "All things for me to pass along to the others and the Headmistress. You two, however, should get up to bed."

Albus goggled, and he felt Rose twitch. "Are you serious? After-"

" _Yes,_ " he said in a tone that left no room to wonder. "There isn't a thing you can do for anyone at this stage, and I can't risk you poking your nose into our own investigation and causing so much uproar we all miss the real culprit." For a moment, he continued to glare at them suggestively, then his expression softened. "Sorry. You're not wrong about how important this all is, and I don't blame you in the slightest for feeling that drive to be involved. This just... this isn't a game. Even if it were, you're far, _far_ too young to play it."

"I'm very sure Uncle Harry would say just that." Albus was rather proud of the sheer amount of sarcasm dripping from Rose's words.

"Yes, well, 'Uncle Harry' isn't responsible for a school full of fragile young witches and wizards - even if one or two of them aren't so fragile." He winked, then pushed them toward the staircase. "Listen to your elders, just this once? Up to bed."

From the entrance to his office, up the frigid staircase and into the entrance hall they went, silent and defeated. Finally, when they reached the top of the stairs, Rose said, "This is far enough."

"What?" Albus made no move to disguise how bland his tones were.

"For us to talk about what we're hearing without being heard ourselves."

And there, between her thumb and forefinger, was one end of the fleshy-coloured string that could solve all their problems. As they leaned in, Albus's heart trip-hammering, sound drifted from it.

"...chimaera claptrap! Austerus has nearly _died,_ what are we to-"

"Calm down, calm _down,_ Lautitia," Longbottom insisted. "We will speak with the Headmistress about this. If need be, she can recall the exorcist, set him to the job we paid him for."

"I warned you when I saw the ghosts swirling on Hallowe'en," she continued doggedly. "When Peeves dropped the Slytherin boy, when Mr Urran's office - _locked_ office was coated with stinksap! There is more afoot here than the rest of the staff is willing to admit!"

"That may be the case, but there is a procedure to be followed." A deep sigh. "First, we see Dryden here up to the hospital wing. Then, we bring Headmistress Sprout into the loop, because like it or not, this _is_ her school, and she _is_ in charge. Understand?"

Then there was some scuffling, and Rose was yanking the Extendable Ear up into her arms before they took off up the stairs.

"What'd you do that for?" he demanded a few floors up. "We could have found out so much, we-"

"They were going to do what he said, move Dryden," she hissed back as they jogged. "That means opening the door and going up the stairs to find us using a magical object that is technically against the rules, Al!"

 _"Blast!"_ he shouted aloud when they neared their dormitory, causing the Fat Lady to snort and wake from her slumber, squinting at him as if he'd called her a child's fingerpainting. "This... everything's gone so awfully, terribly wrong! It's like my worst imaginings come to life!"

"Yeah, and I'm having a grand day out," Rose countered. "Al, come on, let's just go on up to bed, like he told us."

He was sure she couldn't possibly mean that. " _No!_ I'm not going to sleep - how _can_ I? Jezabel is _gone!"_

Finally, his cousin seemed to sense how deeply it was affecting him. Breathing heavily from their run, she put one hand on each of his shoulders, leaned down and bumped the top of her head against his. Her voice quavered, and she was quite obviously a hair's breadth from losing it entirely. "I know. And Dryden's doing his best impression of hamburger. But we're totally helpless. Even if we knew where she was, she's off grounds. We've got no way to get to her."

Albus hadn't been praying at all, but his silent plea was answered anyway - for from the portrait hole, a voice neither of them had spent much time thinking about lately gave them their path.

"I know a way."

_END Chapter Forty-Seven_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 NOTE: Just wanted to point out that Smashing Pumpkins, a band I've been fond of for many years, now have a song called "The Chimera" (American spelling) that didn't exist back when I wrote this epic. Not sure it suits the story, but it's a decent tune!


	48. Praecessi's Room

Albus cast a quick glance at Rose, brow furrowing, before asking, "A way to what, Wayne?"

The prominent ears of Wayne Elphinstone were now reddening, and it didn't take them long to find out why. "Well... sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you weren't much bothering to keep your voices low." He paused a moment for them to scold him, but both only stared at him expectantly. "That Jezabel girl... she's disappeared? Really?"

"Afraid so," Rose began nervously. Not that they felt especially good about it, but neither she nor her cousin were as close to the skittish young man as they could be, and discussing a sensitive topic such as abductions and near-murders they had been present for with a stranger seemed unwise. "Er... but anyway, what do you mean, you know a way we can get to her?"

"Just that." But now his tones were becoming more suspicious. "What did _you_ mean when you said Dryden looks like ground beef?"

"Just that," Albus echoed without enthusiasm. "He's been slashed to ribbons and he's in the hospital wing."

Wayne's eyes went wide, which only accentuated the bags under them. "No!" He looked between them, as if waiting for one or the other to shout "April Fool!" or something similar, but when they only stared down at the floor dejectedly, he continued, "But... he's been rather hard on me, all right, but he did inadvertently manage to teach me how to brew the Draught of Disaster, which saved my bum in our O.W.L.s. Is he- I mean, are they going to be able to patch him up?"

Albus shrugged. "Longbottom said it's likely, but Merlin, he was a mess."

"So... you're trying to find Jezabel because she did it?"

"Of course not!" Rose snapped. "But she might be the next victim if we can't find her in time!"

"Victim?" The pair of them could see the last variables of the equation clarify in their classmate's expression. "The ghosts! Not still, even after they carted Dorika away!"

"You can help us, then?" Albus pressed - there wasn't enough time to put the kettle on and chat. "If you can't, we won't fault you, but anything-"

"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly, colour steadily draining from his cheeks. "B-but I don't know much about it, and if it doesn't work y-you can't put the blame on me, all right?"

That did nothing to assuage their skepticism. "You're not going to try burning some mallowsweet or some such bilge, are you?"

"Eh? Oh, don't be silly," he snorted, scratching his chin. "It's... well, Tranquilius told me about something that may be of use - hang on-"

They could only look on in bewilderment as he crossed to the nearest window, stared outside, then pulled both of them into a huddle.

"There's a locked door down the sixth floor," he whispered. "Near the Arithmancy classroom. You ought to know the Unlocking Charm by now, I should think."

"Yeah," Albus assured him urgently; the area he was describing began to jog something in his memory. "And?"

Wayne smiled uncertainly. "From there, you can get anywhere... at least, according to Tranky. Don't hold me responsible if it turns out to be some daydream of his, though - you know how he gets."

"We won't," Rose told him with a smile. "And if this _does_ work, I might snog your face off - thanks!"

And they were off toward the stairs, leaving Wayne clutching for the wall near the Fat Lady, aforementioned face burning.

"Reckon we're off on a fool's errand?" Albus asked as they ran.

"Likely," Rose panted. "But it really is about the only thing we could be doing right now save biting our nails and waiting for the teachers to turn up with Jezabel's corpse."

_"Rose!"_

"I know, Al, but it's a very real possibility!" A glance over showed him that panic was brewing just below the surface. "And if anything happens to her because, y'know, they fail miserably at enforcing rule within their own institute of higher learning, I'm going to be very, very cross with the whole-"

_"Oof!"_

_"OI-!"_

It took them a moment to sort themselves from the long limbs of Caspian Lewis, who shouted angrily, "Why don't you watch where you're sprinting?"

"Sorry," Albus said earnestly, shoving an Extendable Ear back into his bag. "We're really in a hurry, though."

"Fine, but don't take it out on me," he said irritably, smoothing out his wavy blonde hair as he stood. "I'm having a decidedly unpleasant day, and scrapes and bruises aren't going to improve my disposition."

Rose seemed to find this irritating. "You _git!_ There are teachers dying and students missing! Who cares if you've got your knickers in a twist over some errant-"

"What?" he said, eyes narrowing. "Who's gone missing?"

For what seemed like the seventh or eighth time that day, Albus and Rose felt like they might as well take out an article in the Daily Prophet and save themselves the trouble of going over current events. Still, they decided it easiest to give him a brief run-down of their encounter in Dryden's office. His eyes went wider and wider as they went on, until at last he had produced his wand, seemingly as a reflex.

"If this is a rescue attempt, let's do this properly."

Rose let out a snort of laughter, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. _"You're_ not tagging along - what business is it of yours? She's our mate."

"I tried to save her once before, didn't I?" he countered, arms crossing over his chest. "Maybe I'm not a _prefect,_ but that doesn't mean I can ignore a fellow Gryffindor in need. I'm lending my wand to this, whether you think I'm a good enough friend or not."

Again, Rose opened her mouth to lash out with what promised to be a scathing retort, but Albus placed a hand on her shoulder. "Fine. It's better than just the two of us, and it'll probably slow us down more if we try and talk him out of it."

"Al-"

"You saw that Shield Charm he pulled off," he hissed. "Nobody's better at counterjinxes. He might be of use."

"It really is bolstering to listen to the two of you discussing me as if you're thinking of buying another bottle of Mrs Scower's," he muttered.

"Should we go and get Ryan and our siblings, as well?" Rose shot at Albus, earning her a death glare. "Good, we're agreed; we need to move. Not that I expect this to work."

Albus grinned at her. "Actually... I believe it will." He took a few lengthy strides down the corridor, turned around, and muttered, "Okay... Peeves was... and-"

The knob he tried didn't turn. "Yep, this is it. _Alohomora!"_

It popped open; before either Caspian or Rose could ask how he'd found it so easily, he'd ushered them inside and slammed the door shut.

"Crap," said Rose. "Not this again."

Comets streaked overhead. Nebulae and constellations sparkled in the distance, and a feeling of weightlessness and vertigo clutched at the hearts of the three fifth-years as they strode along the floor that wasn't there.

"What... is this?" Caspian breathed.

"I dunno either," Albus said with a shrug. "But I have a feeling we've come to the right place."

Rose sighed, gazing worriedly at the planet some hundred thousand miles below her feet. "Should have realized this is what Wayne was on about. Think I'd rather not have come. Can we call the whole thing off and go back to studying or something?"

"O.W.L.s are over, dearest cousin," Albus laughed.

"No..." They both turned their attention to the frantic classmate, whose eyes were wide enough they could see the veins at the corners of his corneas. "B-but there's no way you've found Praecessi's Room, it's not real!"

Rose got there first. "Found wotsis?"

"It's... well, I've only heard Professor Flitwick talking with Professor Sinistra about it once," he laughed bleakly, neck craned all the way back so he could gaze at the heavens. "There was a wizard who once taught Arithmancy here at the castle before being snatched up by the Department of Mysteries for more important work. Legend has it he imbued one of its rooms with the ability to send those who could find it and puzzle out its use anywhere they wished. An old wives' tale. This is just as she described, though, so- so it must be. But they both dismissed it as a rumour, a child's imaginings!"

Try as he might, Albus couldn't suppress the grin he felt forming on his face. "Witches and wizards have said that about a good many rooms in this castle, according to my dad."

"It's smashing, really it is," Rose growled at the pair of them, "but can we set about this task before I urp all over the invisible ground?"

Caspian nodded, though it was clear a part of him wanted to stay there, gazing about at this monumental discovery.

"So how do we go about this? Ask for Dorika? That would be a-"

"No," Albus said, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "I think we've ruled her out." He thought for a few seconds, watching as a shower of meteors pelted toward another heavenly body. "Finding the culprit of the attacks is important, but... that's not what's important right now."

"Agreed."

He took a deep breath, looked up toward what would be the ceiling in a normal location, and cried, "Take me to Jezabel Skirrow!"

No sooner had the breath left his lips than a door appeared directly in front of him. Rose noticed his expression and turned toward it, but Caspian had seen nothing.

"C'mon, Lewis, our ride is here."

Still looking over his shoulder at the spectacular display, he followed them through the portal and into darkness.

There truly was nothing to see. As Albus waded farther out into the black, he felt a strange lumpiness under his feet, but other than that their new surroundings gave no other hint. Finally, he called out, "Everyone all right?"

"Dandy," came Rose's immediate reply. "But where-"

"Dunno," Caspian interrupted. _"Lumos!"_

At the flare of his wandtip, Albus's first impression was that they'd mistakenly been dropped into Greenhouse Three - or a Greenhouse Five that was unbeknownst to the students due to condemnation. Vines of varying thickness and states of rot spread throughout the entire room, which was quite damp and smelled of old rubbish bins someone had left out in the rain for decades.

"This is, erm... atypical," Rose began. "Where do you suppose we are?"

Crouching, Albus inspected one of the dead creepers. "Could be anywhere, couldn't we? Off the Hogwarts grounds - or out of the country. We could be in Singapore."

"I highly doubt we're on an island," Caspian put in, staring around in wonder; his wandtip flashed as he moved, and Albus found it hard to make out anything with such unsteady lighting. "This gives all outward appearance of being underground."

"This way," Rose ordered, motioning down a long, cold corridor. "It's that, or hang out in here all night."

As they moved farther inward, Albus began to agree with Caspian's assessment; the passageway began to tilt down gently, taking them farther into the earth. The longer they went, the more his nerves began to wear thin, and the hammering of his heart competed with the faint dripping of water here and there. Finally, to break the suffocating silence, Rose said, "So... what will we do if we find Jezabel?"

"Get her out of there," Albus said immediately.

"No, no, I- well, if she's knocked out, or worse - we don't know where we are. How do we get home?"

No one had a reply for her.

At long last they reached another pitch-black chamber roughly the same size as the last. Immediately opposite them was a huge wooden door, blackened with age and water damage. Unfortunately, this was locked; all three of them tried the Unlocking Charm in turn, but either it required a wizard of prodigious power or the locking spell was more complicated.

"So we've gone nowhere fast," Albus gusted.

"The ceiling is so... high," Caspian noted, neck craned again. Albus wondered if he spent his spare time birdwatching. "The last chamber was like this, as well. How far down do you suppose we are?"

"Wait, Lewis," Rose hissed, pointing her own now-lit wandtip downward. "You see all these?"

When Albus turned to see what she meant, he needed no further explanation. The floor was absolutely covered in keys, gold and silver of all shapes and sizes. "Wha- but that's ridiculous! You can't need all these to open this one door!"

"Maybe there's more than one," Caspian said darkly. "This could be the entrance to a real live labyrinth."

Rose bent down and picked up a tiny one with a clear gem set in it. "Should we take them all? What if we get farther in and find we've left the single key we needed behind?"

"There's a broom in the corner," Caspian noted. "Odd. What would you need one in here for?"

"You know," Albus said with a laugh, "we could be building all this up in our heads. This could be one of Urran's spare closets."

_"REDUCTO!"_

Both Caspian and Albus leapt back as the spell collided with the door. In the second it took Albus to form the words in his mind to give Rose a severe tongue-lashing for acting without thinking, his mouth fell open as he watched the light turn such a large door to mere splinters.

"I reckon we can squeeze through that," Albus mumbled as he looked at the rather large hole. "What-"

 _"REDUCTO!"_ she screamed again, letting off such a blast that it seemed to rock the foundations. When Albus dropped his arms from around his head, he saw the door was completely gone, and some of the surrounding frame had been demolished, as well.

 _"Would you STOP?"_ he shouted at her. "You're going to get us all killed!"

"I haven't got the patience for these juvenile riddles and games," Rose snapped. "Let's just go!"

Caspian let out a bark of laughter. "That's one way to cut the Gordian knot. Ready?"

Palms sweating, Albus tightened his grip on his wand as best he could and led the way. Through more cold, shadowy rooms they passed, stepping over rubble and broken glass, until at last they reached what appeared to be the last - and his stomach and heart dove in opposite directions.

Jezabel was in the centre of the chamber, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. Already somewhere near his feet, his stomach further churned to see she had been stripped of her robes and shoes, though her blouse, stockings and a faded pair of orange shorts remained in place. There were brutal scratches on her limbs, as if someone had been rather in a hurry to divest her so they could get on with tying her up. She'd also been gagged and blindfolded for good measure.

"Bastards," said Albus, limbs quaking. When he'd spoken, Jezabel twitched feebly, moaning indistinctly through the handkerchief that strove to mute her.

It was Caspian who recovered first - most likely because the other two had a stronger bond with the victim, and therefore took longer to wrap their minds around the awful sight. "Let's try and get these ropes off, and, erm... _Accio Gag!"_

The cloth flew away as they approached the girl, all hands reaching for her bonds to see how tight they were; Albus was already trying to decide if they were too close for a simple Severing Charm, he didn't want to accidentally slice through her clothes. However, as they neared, she screamed, "NO, ALBUS, WAIT! IT'S A TRAP, DON'T TOUCH-"

But already, three hands from three different persons had come into contact with the ropes. Seconds after this, they found themselves careening through space, a sharp, pulling sensation mostly emanating from the area just above the pelvis. They tried to remove their hands from the ropes, but they were stuck fast. Albus felt himself slam painfully into Rose, then into Caspian, and then into chilly, unyielding ground.

"Urrrgh..."

His head must have struck first, followed by his shoulder and knees, because that was the order of pain from greatest to least. The room swam so in his vision that he couldn't be at all sure where they might be. There were several dusty shelves stocked with books and assorted bricabrac, and a table containing what appeared to be a very broken set of scales. The only door might not have been used for centuries, and there was no telling if it could be opened now. He felt along the floor and first came into contact with what, after a moment's squinting, turned out to be Jezabel's socked foot. When he clawed his way along the floor to where the ropes were thickest, he found...

"A _slipknot?"_

"Looks to be," Caspian said as he rubbed his jaw.

Albus had a very strong feeling this had been done to add insult to their already considerable injuries, but there was no use obsessing over it now. A quick tug undid the knot, and a few more seconds freed the girl entirely.

"Thank you," Jezabel whispered weakly as she removed her own blindfold. Though he should have been ashamed of himself, the relief that gripped him when he saw her eyes were deepest brown again coursed through him like the strongest cordial. "B-but you really shouldn't have- I was- I heard the word 'Portus', and I knew it must have been my-"

Rose shushed her, kneeling on Jezabel's other side now. "Relax a moment. You've been through a lot today."

"Hmm," said Caspian, standing and wandering away.

"Are you hurt?" Albus asked. "Well, I can see scratches, but other than that?"

"No," she said softly. "Mostly just... tired. And confused - I went from walking to the library to... to- oh, I couldn't see anything, I had n-no idea where I was!"

"Shh," Rose soothed again, cradling Jezabel's sobbing head in her lap as Albus patted her hand.

"Are these yours?"

They looked up to see Caspian holding such shoddy, hand-me-down robes that they could only belong to Jezabel. In his other hand was a wand and a pair of Mary Janes.

"Yes," she sighed, smiling blearily as she stood on unsteady legs. As soon as she'd left Rose's lap, she followed suit, as did Albus. "Thank God my wand is okay - the robes need replacing anyway, I suppose, but I _really_ haven't the money for a new wand."

"But why is it here?" Albus mused as she struggled into the robes. "Whoever did this to Jez mustn't have thought it mattered if she got them back, but then... why bother taking them?"

"To make sure she didn't escape on her own," came a voice from the bookcase to their left. "Wouldn't have been any fun if she didn't bring along her little band of heroes, would it?"

No one answered.

"And then, if you never did find her, bound and alone deep within the bowels of Hogwarts, well..." And it laughed. It was a chuckling, guffawing, wicked laugh that made Albus's heart sink. He'd heard enough by now to distinguish it was male, but other than that...

"Who is that?" Rose whispered, mind in synch with his. "And where is it-"

"Tap the spine of the book entitled 'Wandless Destiny' thrice - ironically, with your wand," the voice bade them. "Or don't. But you never know what may happen if you leave now... or _when_ it may happen."

A quick look around at his fellows' faces told Albus none of them wanted to. Both Rose and Caspian looked hesitant and afraid, and droplets of sweat were already beading on Rose's forehead. But Jezabel, rather than looking purely afraid, seemed wholly shocked; her doe eyes were wider than he'd seen in a while, and her mouth hung open.

"Let's get this over with now." Albus's voice was scarcely a whisper; he didn't want whoever was on the other side of this bookcase to know their plans. "This nutter'll just cause more trouble for us later, whoever it is. Wands at the ready."

"We're not idiots," Rose snapped.

"I'll see if I can disarm him," Caspian told them under his breath. "Quick enough, and we may have him straight off."

"Oh, must we?" Jezabel lamented, though she had at least drawn her wand and donned her shoes. "You've found me - and my gratitude is boundless - but sh-shouldn't we retreat and leave this for the prof-"

Albus couldn't keep the anger from his voice entirely as he cut her off. "The professors are useless. Dryden's brush with the beyond and your being kidnapped right under their noses proves that."

Not waiting for another word, he tapped the book in question three times. As they'd been expecting, the shelves swung outward, revealing a short passageway into a large room.

What they weren't expecting is what they found inside. It bordered on ludicrous.

_END Chapter Forty-Eight_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're REALLY at the finale of it all. Granted, there are still several chapters left, but the climax is never the end. Who do you think it is? This is your last chance to weigh in before all is revealed!


	49. The Chimaera Of Judgement

Nearly the size of the Great Hall, if only half the height, Albus, Rose, Caspian and Jezabel found themselves walking into a room full of strange, antiquated weapons and armor, and the odd tapestry rolled up and stashed atop a heap of trophies here and there. Silver, bronze and iron glinted at them from all corners of the well-lit chamber. At the back of this, sitting on a battered, ornate chair that could once have been a throne, sat-

 _"MALKIN?"_ Rose blurted.

"Welcome to my humble home away from home" said Atticus Malkin, chapped lips already twisted into a grin of dark pleasure. Peeves hung in the air by his shoulder, mean little face expressionless. "It's intriguing, all the things here. Must be the castoffs from the Armory, what they thought wasn't worth displaying. Ever since our dear poltergeist found it for me, I've made this my sanctuary, war room, and all around clubhouse."

None of them could find the words - _any_ words, much less appropriate ones. Malkin prompted, "Surprised?"

"More like... underwhelmed," Rose continued, aghast. Albus could tell she'd almost dropped her wand, but then her grip redoubled on it. " _You've_ been doing all this? Running us ragged, dropping and suffocating students, turning the whole bloody castle on its ear? Are you taking the piss?"

"Don't act all _that_ blown away," he grunted, lazily swinging a leg from the arm of the chair. "If it'd been an obvious personage like, say, the Headmistress, someone might have noticed who was pulling the strings."

She glowered at him. "She was your first victim, wasn't she? You drove Peeves to-"

"Hah!" he burst out. "It would have been brilliant, yes, but that he did all on his own; pure accident. Tickles me all the more. It was rather an inspiration, however. There was so much I could do... so much..."

As he spoke, it seemed every ghost within the castle converged on their location; Peeves had already been there, but now they were joined by the four House ghosts, each one hovering menacingly near his seat of power. Even Moaning Myrtle showed up to pout at them, arms folded in defiance. Malkin paid them no mind, as if they were gnats unworthy of his notice - or a part of him that drew no attention, he was so very used to their presence.

Albus spared a look over at Caspian, wondering if he was still going to try the Disarming Spell, but his bunkmate was beside himself; not that it mattered. Malkin was apparently so convinced they were at his mercy that he hadn't even twitched toward his own wand.

Equally depressing was the sight of Jezabel's wholly resigned features. Albus now knew she'd recognised Malkin's voice through the wall before the rest of them, having spent five-and-a-half years in the same House with him. Why she hadn't spoken up before he could only hazard a guess, but his guess would be that she was so dismayed to learn his identity that she couldn't find her voice. He knew he couldn't.

"What do you think of my menagerie?" the boy asked them, gesturing grandly at the ghosts. "Quite good company, once you get used to them; though they more or less will have no remembrance of being here. Better than listening to Scorpius whinge about his father, or Genevieve whinge about Scorpius. The best sort of friends, in my opinion: they do whatever you tell them, then float away as if you were perfect strangers when you're done with them. It's a shame real people aren't like that."

"You sad, deranged little-"

"Temper, temper," Malkin said, eyes flashing at Caspian. "The less rudeness you show, the longer I might play with my food before I eat it."

While Albus tried to decide what to make of that, he saw a ghost zooming toward Malkin, a wand in its hand. A quick glance told him the action had cost Caspian his weapon.

"Thank you, Binns," the boy snorted as the wand dropped into his outstretched hand. As they watched this, more ghostly hands appeared, snatching Albus's own wand away before he could redouble his grip. His only defence, gone! Rose, however, was alerted by now; when Myrtle's hands grasped at her, she rolled to one side, aimed for the enemy, and let fly.

_"Confringo!"_

The Blasting Curse struck the topmost part of the ruined throne, missing him by mere inches as it eradicated that and the wall behind. When his head raised again, he was not angry or panicked. He did, however, smile and say, "Once is enough."

Albus felt sure he would be sick as he watched Myrtle float into Rose's body. For a moment, they were superimposed on each other, a blurry mass of living Gryffindor and departed Ravenclaw. Then, there was only Rose with pink irises, striding dutifully toward her new master.

"No," he managed, voice quaking as his hands curled into fists. "Stop it."

"Mine, now," Malkin told him gleefully - though it never reached his eyes. They were as empty and lacking of warmth as before. "To do with as I wish. I could make her march straight into the Forbidden Forest and mock the first centaur she sees... that would be satisfying..."

"Let her go."

It only served to egg him on. He took Rose's wand from her outstretched hand, then patted her on the head. "Far more effective than the Imperius, and without that nasty side-effect of the Ministry's Improper Use office knowing my every move. Lots of options. Watch, and be entertained!"

And Albus did watch, heart in his throat, as Rose first did a cartwheel, then punched herself in the face, then leapt about the entire room, chattering like a chimpanzee. Only the looming threat of what might happen to the rest of them - or Rose - kept him from rushing the poor excuse for a wizard.

"All right," Albus managed, hot tears stinging the corners of his eyes and obstructing his vision. "You've had a laugh. Now let her go."

"Not yet." Malkin turned to him, crossing his legs and holding his chin between thumb and forefinger. "There's something I've always wondered; everyone in the castle has now and again, I'm sure. Now's probably my only opportunity."

Albus's teeth were clenched so tightly he was sure whatever he said would come out sounding primal, but he managed to reply, "Go on, then."

Without warning, Atticus Malkin dropped his stolen wands into the chair behind him, striding across the room with surprising grace and fluidity. Over his shoulder, Albus noticed Peeves settling into the seat, heading off any addle-brained recovery attempt. Their tormentor drew right up to him, hand settling over his own chest as he said, "You and the Rosette there... how close are you?"

"Very," Albus said easily.

"How would you describe... your relationship?"

And for some reason, even though he had meant to tell Atticus to get bent, he found himself saying, "We're more like siblings than cousins."

When Malkin smiled, it came together in his head, and the results wasn't to his liking. The Slytherin had managed to amass more than just the power to control ghosts. He shot a furtive glance at both Caspian and Jezabel, but both were slack-jawed, too frightened and amazed at all of this to help him. "Then you aren't... in love with Rose?"

"I do love Rose," he answered instantly, trying to cover his mouth with his hands - although all in the room could still hear every word. The rest of his body was his to do with as he pleased, but he could not stop his lips and mouth from forming his innermost thoughts. "I can't imagine living without her. She's as close to me as Lily."

"Lily? Ahh, that mousy prat of a Potter, that's right." The boy snorted, walked around Albus once, then stopped in front of him again, brushing a lank lock of brown hair behind his ear. "Who _is_ the most important person in your life?"

"I don't know." Albus was surprised the answer came out the way it did; he'd expected his true feelings, a secret even from himself, to come surging out of his mouth.

Evidently, this was not enough for Malkin. "You don't? Who would be at the top of your list?"

"My family and friends."

"Such a slippery answer from someone who's being compelled to tell me the truth," Atticus spat.

"How _are_ you doing this?" Caspian asked quickly, before another question could be asked. "We're not even set to learn nonverbal spells until next year, and this is some pretty impressive casting - especially without words, _or_ a wand."

"Gryffindor's top student speaks at last!" Malkin crowed. "Want to know the secret of my success, do you? It's really quite simple, once you've put the jigsaw pieces in place, but... I do believe I'd like to start with the beginning and work forward. Never know how you might try to turn the tables if I divulge the choicest bits too soon.

"Everyone has always written me off," he continued, stalking back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. Albus tried to ignore both him and the way Rose was tying knots in her own hair some five metres away, but he still heard every loathsome sentence. "Even my family, from the moment I was born. They tolerated me, gave me the things I need, taught me wrong from right - or their version of it, as it were. But I heard their true feelings, whispered in rooms they thought locked or soundproofed. Atticus Malkin is of no importance! An ancillary family member! He'll never come to be more than a maintenance wizard! Nothing spectacular about him! Pah. They never saw a drop of potential in me - not because there wasn't any, but because I wasn't the right size or shape... or the right bloodline."

"You're a pureblood wizard," Albus gusted impatiently - glad to find he was still able to speak his mind. "Don't forcefeed us that load of bubotuber pus about bloodlines."

"Oh, but I'm not," he laughed bitterly. "You see, my mother had a certain, shall we say... predilection for Muggles. Rather die than bring one into the family properly, mind you, she wasn't _entirely_ mental - but now and again, she'd sneak off into Muggle London, find a bar, and chat a Muggle bloke up. And here I am." He paused to smile ruefully at them, sweeping his arms wide. "It's an open secret, they all know; Mother and Father insist they're my biological parents, but they're not fooling anyone in the slightest. I'm a Mudblood, and therefore I can never be anything other than mud.

"But not so, says I! There are ways to manufacture notoriety for yourself. Why, just look at the late, great Dark Lord Voldemort - he was a Mudblood, too, and he went on to bring about the deaths of legions!"

"Yes, there's something to strive for," Caspian said fiercely, obviously tiring of his self-indulgent monologue. "Lay waste to a few countries; they'll adore you then!"

"Adoration is overrated," he replied with a shrug. "All I want is power and the freedom to use it. And with the chimaera, I've found both."

"The what?" Albus tried his best not to let on how desperately he wanted to know what he meant, but it showed anyway. "So it _is_ a chimaera."

Malkin smirked. "Yeah, of course. Don't tax that feeble Gryffindor brain of yours, Albie. You know, I'm not certain you and Rose aren't sneaking off behind the broomshed - let's try an experiment."

The Grey Lady was floating toward him, arms stretched in front of her... and then everything was gone. Albus couldn't be sure how long he floated in limbo, peaceful, oblivious, but he could still feel her cold, insubstantial hands on his chest when he saw her speeding away. It seemed like no time had passed between at all.

Much closer than the Grey Lady, he could feel breath on his upper lip. Where from? Unfortunately, when his hand twitched and he felt a warm back through robes, he became all too aware.

"Urgh," said Caspian from nearby. "That's just... offensive."

Suddenly, though he had just told Malkin that he and Rose were close as siblings, between there and the craters of the moon wouldn't have been enough distance between them. He was still swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, listening to Rose spit violently from the other side of the room, when Malkin spoke again.

"Amusing... but your little aftershow doesn't convince me. What if-"

"Enough!" Albus shouted, ignoring the roiling in his stomach. He now noticed the Grey Lady and Myrtle hovering near the throne; Malkin had made Rose suffer through the ordeal, also. "Next you'll be trying to make Lewis proposition a hippogriff! What's the point?"

"And why is my hair all knotted?" Rose suddenly interjected.

"There is no point," he confirmed, smiling as he approached, hands still behind his back. "This is my game, and I play it because it's fun. Need there be any more point than that?"

Blustering, Rose pointed wildly at the boy and bellowed, "You're such a- a- _fifty_ points from Slytherin!"

"Oh my," he snorted, genuinely tickled by Rose's insignificant revenge. "That's put me in my place, hasn't it?"

Albus glanced around for some kind of help, a magical tutor in how to be a decent, upstanding wizard. Finding none, he took it upon himself. "You're 'playing' with _lives!_ My life, Goyle's life - Dorika's in Azkaban right now because of you! And all for your sadistic amusement! What gives you the-"

"Self-righteous bastard!" Malkin growled, grabbing him by the lapels. "Everyone thinks they're _so_ important, so crucial to the world around them - but not I! See, I _know_ I am! And do you know how I know?"

Albus was too afraid to ask, but he still whispered, "No," unable to throw off whatever magics he held.

"Because I control whether you live or die."

And then Jezabel was there, delivering a solid blow to his kidney. From the outset, he'd have wagered her frail limb would have buckled when trying such a thing, but the pain that exploded in his side told him whatever ghost was possessing her had lent its strength to the attack.

Albus leapt back as she aimed a kick for his midsection. Even under demonic influence, he couldn't bring himself to fight back against her, because he knew how much she'd taken from all sides her entire life. He ducked what would have been an elbow to the face, but once above his head it came crashing down on his neck, and he very nearly lost consciousness; black spots swam in his eyes as he stumbled away from her. Somewhere distantly, he could hear Rose and Caspian shouting, but the meaning of their words wouldn't reach his brain through the agony.

"Puppets!" Malkin announced as Jezabel leapt at him, hands twisted into claws. "The world is made up of my puppets! They serve and obey, and my every whim is a reality! I could have Sir Nicholas possess you and _make_ you take the beating, but your remembering it gives me greater joy."

"You'll never get away with this!" he found himself trumpeting, though he knew how hollow it sounded even as he spoke. "The Headmistress, the other teachers will catch-"

"They haven't yet, have they? You said that yourself in the other room." A low chuckle. "Binns was listening, and as he listened, so did I. And you're correct; they'll never figure it out. I knew only your thick-skulled determination would lead you to me. After all, you're the son of the greatest legend of the last century."

For the very first time in Albus's fifteen years, he actually found himself wishing he really _were_ his father. In a situation such as this, he had no doubt that Harry Potter would have already figured out what to do, how to do it, and carried it out with flawless execution. But he wasn't a gifted magician with unflappable bravery and a grim destiny that tied him together with his enemy - he was just a boy with no wand, struggling to find a way around his own death and the death of his friends. However, he would be damned if he gave Malkin the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Albus Dumbledore was a far greater wizard! My dad only did what he thought was right, and that meant shutting up a miserable little pissant just like you!"

"You _mock_ me now?" Malkin demanded, stalking forward as Jezabel's nails left thin streaks of red on his forehead and cheeks. "Comparing me to that half-Inferi megalomaniac? I have no designs on wiping out Muggles or enslaving the world! What would I do with it? I only want entertainment - and for those who have wronged me to suffer!"

"What are you babbling ab-"

"You told the teachers about the Flagratattooing!" he snarled, sounding less and less in control by the second. "When I didn't even participate - only looked on, enjoying the show! Dryden has been rubbishing my work in Potions since the day he started, though I was the top of our class, and still am! Your zestful companions Logan and Macmillan thumped me soundly because they wanted the sodding _crup_ I chose in Care of Magical Creatures! Such treatment is undeserved, and I saw to it they paid dearly for their shortsightedness!"

Albus was having trouble taking this in. All those things had been Malkin. Even up to a few minutes ago, he'd been holding onto the mental image of Dryden doing those things, trying to sabotage the Gryffindors and up their standings in the House Cup. "Why... then why Belvina? Why Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth is... none of your business," he said scathingly. "As for the Hitchens hag, she turned my supper into make-up with her fat arse. Couldn't stand her, anyway."

"Then what about Goyle, hmm?" Rose demanded, finding her voice again; through a barrage of Jezabel's punches, he could see a lingering rouge in her cheeks from what she'd been forced to endure at his hands. "You turned Peeves loose on your own Housemate! What could he have done to deserve that?"

Malkin turned to look at her, lip curling. "Goyle is a worm. He is of no use to anyone in the wide wizarding world, much less to me. Then one day, he nearly crushed me flat, and I decided I'd find a good instance to get back at him. And I did - and the whole school saw it!"

"What they saw was Jezabel save both him _and_ Albus," Rose laughed harshly. "Nobody even knows it was you who'd tried to kill him, but now everybody sees the heroism in her heart. And then you get caught burning her in some abandoned room, and you've got detentions for life. Backfired for you a bit, I'd say."

"Shut _up!"_ he growled, finally producing his wand - and that's when Caspian chose to strike. The minute his long arms encircled Malkin's, Jezabel faltered, stumbling and landing on the floor, twitching feebly and clutching her stomach. The other ghosts also seemed to wonder why they had been assembled, blinking around curiously at the room they were now haunting - and Peeves floated away from the throne, eyes crossing. As the two boys struggled, Albus sprinted forward, grabbed all four of their wands, pocketed them, and returned to the spot he'd been in. With Caspian wrestling him and Rose now trying to prise his weapon out of his hand, he was sure Malkin had noticed nothing.

Peeves had, though, and despite being too confused to stop Albus as his master had instructed, he was now gazing around at the scene, eyes alight with glee as if he'd accidentally happened upon a forgotten, unopened present from Father Christmas.

"-OFF!" Malkin shouted, finally ridding himself of the Gryffindors. Albus grinned when he saw Rose had a hold on Malkin's wand. "You blighters, I'll _kill-_ "

 _"Silencio!"_ she barked - and it worked. Though Albus hadn't expected her to be able to use the stolen wand, she could, and had effectively. As the boy scrabbled at his own throat, livid, Albus drew his own wand and cast Incarcerous, wrapping him from shoulders to ankle before he was satisfied.

"There," he shot heatedly down at him. "Wrapped up and shut up, just as you left Jezabel. We should leave you this way, as well, and hope somebody knows the way to your..."

But Malkin was smiling. That wasn't right, they _had_ him! But he looked on helplessly as Rose bent down to untie the bonds, hands working quickly, almost lovingly. Possessed again. Worse still, one of the ghosts immediately swooped down and plucked his wand from his limp fingers. He was too astounded to fight whoever it was. "B-but- but your wand, we-"

Rose tapped Malkin's throat with his own wand, then meekly handed it over. "Yes, thank you, pet. See now, Albie, that my power is greater than sticks and phoenix feathers."

And Albus could see. Malkin hadn't actually meant for him to, but during the struggle his robes had apparently been dislodged enough to reveal a very odd, very large pendant swinging from around his neck on a thin rope of what had to be braided unicorn hair.

"Ahh..."

Following Albus's gaze, Malkin seemed angry for a moment, then forced a smile onto his face. "Oh, very well, you've caught me up. It's not as if you can do a bloody thing about it."

"That thing... it's only- but Dryden and Peele kept talking about a chimaera, and you said it, too!"

"This _is_ the chimaera - the Chimaera of Judgement!" he informed him proudly. "One-of-a-kind relic of wizards long past! Admiring already, I see?"

Albus stared at the red glassy surface of what reminded him vaguely of an ankh. Three small jewels were set into it, one red, one blue, and one black - not a black stone, but a gem that shone black from its depths. The whole assemblage had to weigh at least as much as five or six Galleons, and was likely worth far more.

"It's a tyet," Malkin said in answer as he somehow used this unfathomable item to force Rose to restrain Caspian. "This is quite a good story. You see, my great-great-great-great-grandfather - Necronomicus Malkin was his unfortunate name, incidentally - was working as a young curse-breaker for Gringotts, had only just been hired. It was entombed with some old pharaoh, he had to lift it from around his neck. His first thought was only to what gold it would fetch, but as he began to decipher the hieroglyphs along the walls its true purpose was revealed.

"Each rosette holds a different magical property. Alone, they're invaluable - for example, the blue one is what enables me to force the truth out of you without so much as a drop of Veritaserum. When you combine them with the tyet, the avenues open to you increase tenfold. And if you combine it with all three..." He gestured to Jezabel doubled over on the ground, then to Rose detaining Caspian. "The possibilities become infinite."

"That's a lovely fable you've dreamed up," Caspian spat, "but then why haven't there been more reportings of Muggles being attacked by wandering spirits? If your family had a magical object that good, why only start putting it to use now?"

Malkin shrugged, walking around to lean on Rose's shoulder as if she were a marble statue in his private collection. "Hey, I only came across it because Mum ordered me to clean out the attic. Didn't know what it did - not until I found that book in the secondhand shop down Diagon Alley. You were there, Albus," he said with a smile. "You saw me with it."

The memory came back to Albus like a black-and-white moving photograph from a faded, yellowing Daily Prophet. "Yeah... before the year started. But-"

"It described, in detail, several ancient relics of bygone wizardry and their uses - or their _known_ uses. They'd gleaned all the information they could on the Chimaera from the hieroglyphs in the tomb. To their credit, the first page is a disclaimer that some or all of them could be tall tales and mad mutterings, but apparently at least one is authentic. Too bad the Cloak of Invisibility and the Elder Wand aren't, as well, those would be great fun." He shrugged. "The moment I got home, I went back to the manky old trunk full of Great-etcetera-Grandfather Malkin's affects, shoved aside a dented old cauldron and found my ticket to joy."

It was around this instance that Albus saw a pinprick of light beckoning him; there was a way out of this mess, and it hinged on the yapping he and Caspian were still being forced to endure. Many things the boy had said illuminated possible strategies. But how to pull it all together?

The word "Legillimency" flashed through his brain - the art of forwarding his thoughts to another person. Alas, it entailed hours of gruelling practise and study, according to his teachers. Nevertheless, he had intruded on Jezabel's brain once before and the sensation was as fresh in memory as if currently happening.

'Lewis', he willed. Nothing. Was it hopeless? But he tried again, focusing on the wavy blond hair as he forced himself to relive the spiralling, floating sensation. More recently, they'd been trapped by a Portkey - he could use that, as well. 'Lewis, can you hear me?'

And then, miraculously, he saw one of Caspian's eyebrows arch, as if unsure he'd heard Albus speak or not. He grabbed onto that feeling, the tingling surge of magic he felt when doing it, and poured every cell of his body into continuing, 'You have to give me a distraction.'

"What?" Caspian said aloud.

It worked. It almost made Albus laugh, knowing that Caspian hadn't technically put the plan into action but had merely reacted to hearing voices in his head - and yet it did the job. Malkin spun about, arms folded. _"What_ what, Lewis?"

"I, er..." the boy managed, feeling bewildered as he worked to realize what was going on. As Albus shot a hand into his schoolbag, he saw the realization dawn across his face. "Oh..."

Malkin grunted, staring up into the boy's cleft chin. "The English language has developed since the Dark Ages, mate. We've even got ourselves words longer than one syllable! Now, what's your trauma?"

"Nothing. Just that... I think I have heard of this before." Blatant lies spewed forth as Albus found what he was looking for. "You said it was found in Ancient Egypt? Well, I'm well along in Ancient Runes, and I believe when thumbing through a book I found at a car boot sale last-"

"Fascinating," he interrupted. "But unless you have some new information I-"

Caspian hastily assembled that smile of scholarly intrigue he'd seen most often on Hugo or Aunt Hermione. "But I do! Did you know that if you let the tyet soak in a Strengthening Solution overnight during the new moon, it will turn it a darker shade, and you can manipulate ghouls as well?"

It was working to an appalling degree; Malkin turned to face him fully. "Really? Hmm... I don't know that there are any ghouls at Hogarts, but my Aunt Cyrina always complained of a bumping in the west wing..."

"Well, it should be worth a try, anyway," he babbled. "The book could be a pack of lies, but if it isn't-"

"Yes, yes," he said dismissively as he swung back around to Albus. "Something to try at a later da- _WHAT?"_

Albus was gone.

_END Chapter Forty-Nine_


	50. Heirlooms

"Gobsmacked" may be the best word for Atticus Malkin's reaction. His sunken eyes and mouth made three wide O's as he gazed around in wonder at the complete disappearance of one of his captives. For a moment, he continued to stand there, clutching at his wand and struggling to understand how it could have happened right under his nose. Then, he strode toward the spot Albus had occupied a moment ago.

"Vanished... but you can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds." Teeth gritted, he whirled back to grasp Lewis by the lapels. " _You_ did this!"

"Wh- _what?"_ Lewis stammered. "No, how c-could I? I'm wandless!"

 _"Quiet!"_ Eyes burning with rage, he grasped the tyet in one hand and barked aloud needlessly, _"Peeves!_ Stand guard at the door! The rest of you, search the room! He's got to be hiding here somewhere!"

Albus watched in dark amusement as Caspian also glanced around, trying to figure out how he'd managed it - though glad that at least one of them had escaped alive. Then, turning to the task at hand, he searched through his pockets as he crouched beneath the very Cloak of Invisibility their imprisoner had scoffed at. Three wands that belonged to Rose, Jezabel and Caspian - but which was which? There were two long ones, and he recognised the reed as Rose's - there were faint bite marks where she'd been foolish enough to chew on it during their first year with disastrous results. Between the other long wand and the shorter, he couldn't be sure of ownership...

But as he put the other two down and held the shorter wand, he felt a rush of madness, followed by a pang of sadness. Staring at the willow wood in his hand, impossibly, he knew it belonged to Jezabel.

The enemy had his wand. His cloak was all that stood between him and certain death, and Caspian was incapacitated by his equally-incapacitated cousin. Only Jezabel, curled up and sobbing on the floor like a defeated victim, could be of any real help - if there was any help for them at all.

Slowly, painstakingly, he crept across the floor, crouching as low as possible to make sure Malkin couldn't see his feet - though he was of no notable height. He held the wand out in front of him as he placed the other two in his pocket, praying silently to whatever gods might be listening that he got the chance to return those as well.

When the Grey Lady whooshed by him, blowing the cloak up and over his shoulders, he realized their answer must have been "fend for yourself". He froze to the spot, watching as Malkin eventually turned in his direction.

"There! Seize the lurker!"

Albus dived out of the way as both the Bloody Baron and the Fat Friar pelted down on his position, dropping the wand into Jezabel's ample hair as he rolled to his feet and fled. Unfortunately, this put him much farther from his cloak, but to have gone back for it would have been suicide.

"I don't know where you learned your Disillusionment Charm," Malkin laughed as Albus found himself huddling behind a battered suit of copper armor, "but I suggest brushing up before trying it again!"

He hadn't even noticed the cloak; perhaps it did blend in with the scattered and sundry contents of the room. A chance presented itself; Albus pulled out Rose's wand, drew a bead on Malkin from beneath the shoulder joint of the armour, and whispered fiercely, _"Expelliarmus!"_

Nothing. That is, he felt a slight hum from the wand when he spoke the incantation, but the spell did not manifest.

"That hardly seems fair."

Unfortunately, Professor Binns was floating overhead when he muttered this to himself, and turned glowing pink eyes on him. At that instant, he heard Atticus shout in triumph.

"He's yours, Binns - go on!"

To his astonishment, Binns actually took aim with his own wand - he'd been the one to wrest it from him all along - and shouted, _"STUPEFY!"_

The red light hit him directly in the chest. It was a curious sensation, being knocked backward by the full force of a spell intended to remove consciousness from the victim... and yet retaining grip on the waking world.

 _"No!"_ Malkin shouted, unable to stop himself. "That's- there's no way, you should be flat on your back!"

Binns was still hanging there, wand held out, having received no further orders from his mind-blown master. Resisting the peal of laughter that threatened to leap from his throat, he snatched it back easily, took only the barest moment to switch Rose's from his wandhand for his own and plant his feet firmly, then shouted, _"Punctum Pupugi!"_

Immediately, Malkin began to twitch, shrinking away from the fight as he swatted his hands at invisible assailants. Meanwhile, as had happened last time his attentions were strained, the ghosts seemed to surface from his control and gaze stupidly at the situation. Albus didn't have much time; he first found his cloak on the floor and threw it about himself, stowed Rose's wand in his pocket, then went into his bag again. Wandwork alone couldn't win this for them; didn't he have anything in there of use?

Then he did find a few things.

 _"Enough!"_ Malkin was screaming as he rid himself of the jinx's effects. "And where have you gone again? I'm through playing hide-and-seek, do you hear?"

Albus readied himself to redouble his efforts, but he found himself sidetracked by every ghost (save Myrtle, whom was still occupied within Rose's body) taking to just above Malkin's head and zooming around in a great vortex as they had many months ago in front of the entire student body. Again, Albus found himself stunned at the tenacious grip he held on their reigns; they truly did whatever he wished. Of course, it wasn't long before they moved with such speed and force that his cloak was whipped away a second time, but this time he had prepared himself, and was ready with his next move.

"An Invisibility Cloak!" Malkin gasped, momentarily surprised before his face reverted to its former fury. "Naturally! Ah, but to have a father so wealthy and renowned that he can afford such-"

_"Obscuro!"_

Malkin, however, had also seemed to realise Albus was no pushover, for a quick _"Protego!"_ kept the jinx from finding its mark. "You are _aggravating! SECTUMSEMPRA!"_

Albus's eyebrows knotted for the briefest moment as he wondered at this heretofore unknown spell, but the next instant it became abundantly clear as the front of his robes ripped wide open, and he felt a slight pain as it impacted with his chest. Worse still, the strap of his bag had been caught in the line of fire, and it fell to the floor beside him.

 _"Why_ aren't you bleeding?" Malkin demanded. "Scorpius told me that was _sure_ to make quick work of anyone! And why couldn't my Stunner find its way to knocking you out cold?"

"Guess I've just got skin too thick for your bumbling spellwork," he laughed. It was the truth, but the skin he referred to wasn't attached to his body. Trying not to favour his vest or else lead Malkin to figuring him out, he began to circle. "Now... let Rose go, or I'll unleash my wrath."

The boy wasn't at all impressed. "Goodness, but you sound like a Greek tragedy. You haven't any wrath, or anything else to unleash except a handful of cute, second-year jinxes. What makes you think you stand a chance?"

A well-placed Stunner or Impediment Jinx would probably make short work of him, but Malkin's guard was up now and he'd have a rough time of lowering it. A few distractions would help. Grinning, he pulled a tiny potted plant from his pocket.

"My Uncle George's shop, that's what."

"Y-" But Malkin found himself distracted by the eruption of an eight-foot tall, fifteen-foot wide brick wall between himself and his opponent. _"What in blazes?"_

There wouldn't be a wealth of time between this and when Malkin found his way around - or through - the Wall-Flower. He wasted no time in dropping a Decoy Detonator to the ground, prodding it with his foot to scurry into the shadows of armaments and tchachka. Then he redoubled his grip on his wand, crouched low, and waited.

"Look out, Albus!" Caspian shouted.

_"Deprimo!"_

A man-sized hole appeared in the wall a foot to his left. The moment Malkin's head and wand appeared, he popped a small purplish candy into his mouth by force. As he'd been hoping, this variety of attack had not been anticipated, and the boy gagged on it.

"Eat _that!"_ Albus said, unable to resist.

"URGH!" he said aloud, spitting it out at his feet. "What are you _doing?_ That's it - it's time I took the bull by the... what?"

Ants the size of gerbils were now crawling all over his legs, attempting to find their way up and onto the rest of him. Horrified, he began swatting them off with his wand, though any first year could tell you that's a poor use of your primary wizarding tool. Albus leapt through Malkin's hole and found his way to Caspian and Rose.

"Can you think of a way I can get Myrtle out of her?" he hissed.

"Not offhand," Caspian managed; Malkin had put Rose's hand over his mouth after he tried to warn him. "A Disarming Charm might work, but I hypothesise it would liberate me rather than the ghost!"

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Rose's hands did, in fact, fly away from Caspian; he suspected that if Malkin hadn't been distracted by the Anise Ants he would have set her after them again. Next second, Albus had put Caspian's wand into his hand. "Dodge the ghosts," he whispered. "And Rose, I guess. Maybe we won't be able to attack very often, but it's a lot more important that we avoid turning into marionettes!"

"Got it," Caspian breathed. "By the way... how'd you conjure a wall?"

There was no time to reply. Nearly-Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron were baring down, intent on robbing them of free will. Albus ran in one direction, Caspian in another. Where was Malkin? Still behind the wall? Desperate, Albus levitated a dented old goblet into a ghost, but it passed right through; how convenient that they were only solid when they needed to be!

"That's _it!"_ Caspian cried from across the room, whirling in his direction. "Repello Phasmatis! Albus, try-"

Albus groaned as he watched the Fat Friar settle in on Caspian's body, taking control immediately. Once possessed, he casually tossed his wand into a rusty cauldron and dove headfirst into the very wall Albus had created.

"There," Malkin said, striding back out of the hole. "Now, if and when he might rid himself of the spirit, I doubt he'll be able to retain consciousness."

The thin trickle of blood coming from beneath the golden waves of hair contrasting with such a passive expression of obedience on the boy's face set Albus's own veins aflame. "You're mad. You're a sick, besotted-"

"Blah, blah, blah," Malkin finished for him. "Do you always make such painful mewling noises when cornered? Pathetic."

"Cornered, am I?" Albus shouted. _"Repello Phasmatis!"_

But instead of pointing his wand at Rose, he turned it on himself. A glow briefly enveloped his clothes, then faded.

"As if that would really work," Malkin scoffed, smiling a lopsided grin as he swept his hair back away from his eyes. "Nick?"

Sir Nicholas descended on him again, but just as his translucent hand came within a few inches of Albus's nose, he turned up, passing harmlessly over him. Even as Malkin cried out, beside himself, Albus turned his wand on Caspian and repeated the incantation - and it worked, a dim bluish glow enveloped his robes - but he remained possessed.

"Can't repel something that's already _inside,_ Potter!" Triumphant, Malkin readied his wand for a new attack, advancing toward his adversary with a slow, determined pace. "You're all alone in this fight, now - and I'll just have to-"

_"Repello Phasmatis!"_

Malkin scowled when he saw Jezabel's prone form also glowing on the floor. "Very well, then, one-and-a-half against the governor of ghosts. I'm sure she'll be of immense help to you."

"What a git," Albus spat. "I'm glad your utmost form of enjoyment is belittling people, even when they've got you beat."

"How on earth do you mean?"

Albus grinned. "No matter how highly you perform, how much you learn, you know there will always be someone smarter than you, better at everything than you are. Someday, given time - or his death - you'll probably blow past Lewis there. Sadly, though, you'll never even hope to take the top spot."

"Of course I will!" Malkin shouted. "Look at what I've accomplished - something _no one_ has since my ancestor! It was I who gathered all the pieces of the Chimaera of Judgement, I who stole the ring from the Hitchens blighter because I recognised its true purpose! It was I who discovered the final component in our very own Divination Tower, waiting for its rightful owner! Not a solitary witch or wizard has been able to control ghosts and force them to do their bidding in nearly two centuries! And right now?" He let out a bitter, contorted laugh. "I've got two of them sitting inside your dear friends, forcing them to stand at the ready and follow their leader into the heart of Hades if I wish! What can possibly compare?"

"One-trick pony. So you figured out the sum of one equation, so what? That's not intelligence, that's theft and luck. But she'll always match your brain cell for cell, and you'll be found wanting."

"Who do y- do... ah." As he drew the conclusion, he glared down at Jezabel's form. "Well, what does it matter if she knows more than I? There will never come a day when she'll be able to put her knowledge to any real use. Besides, if I snuff her here and now, I'll never have to worry about it at all."

"Actually, I was talking about my Aunt," Albus snickered. "But either her or Jezabel will do. You're no competition for either mind. Gwydion Lahey has you beat, also, now I stop and think of it. And then there _is_ Caspian, whom you could only best by slipping a spectre into him. Also, I seem to recall Professor Dryden saying you actually put an orchid in- _Protego!"_ Albus yelped, knocking an unexpected spell up and away from him. _"Tarantallegra!"_

Without accompanying music, Malkin began a sort of frenzied two-step, struggling to maintain balance even though his legs shot in all directions. Albus also managed to laugh out _"Orchideous!"_ and threw the resulting bouquet of flowers at the boy. These fell beneath his furiously working feet, causing him to slip and go down hard on his chin.

"Merlin's Y-Fronts, it looks like flowers may just be the death of you, Atticus."

As he spoke, Albus noticed Rose and Caspian shiver as if feeling a sudden chill. It only lasted a moment, but Atticus's fall and his still-uncontrolled legs distracted him sufficiently to loosen his control over the ghosts again. His mind raced, searching out a way to use this to his advantage, but he could think of no way to flush the ghosts out. By the time Malkin had cast Finite Incantatem and pushed to standing, Albus had only the time to ready himself for the next attack.

_"Flagrate Velius!"_

_"Proteg-OW!"_

Apparently, his Shield Charm was not prepared for this particular spell, or he had been a heartbeat too late. Burning erupted along his left bicep, and as he watched, the sleeve of his robes began to smoke and catch fire from the stripe of skin onto which Malkin had vented his rage. Working quickly, Albus put it out with an Aguamenti, but the damage was done and his flesh was screaming in pain.

"Haven't learned anything else, you say?" Malkin's paroxysm belied how much Albus's words had truly cut through to his insecurities. "I've just proven that Famous-By-Association Potter is not entirely impervious to attack! _Impedimenta!"_

Sadly, Albus had taken a step away at the instant the spell was cast. Now he was on his backside, sucking at his teeth from the combined agony of burn and bruise. Albus made to undo the jinx and spring back up, to retaliate, but Malkin was baring down on him, wand levelled at his throat and eyes sparking.

"What say you now, eh?"

Albus no longer wanted to mince words with his classmate. The already-futile claims that Malkin had done nothing more than stand by and watch as this ghastly form of Muggle torture was performed on the girl lying feet to his right, the single thing that had suspended Albus's feelings into mere dislike and pity, were gone. Now he hated Atticus Malkin, and considered him a subhuman monster.

"Too far."

Albus had been preparing to surrender and hopefully buy himself time to think up an alternate plan, but both he and Atticus turned to see Jezabel on unsteady feet, wand raised.

"What?" Malkin breathed, still in a state of surprise.

"Albus doesn't deserve to be Flagratattooed," she said in clipped tones. "You've gone too far."

"Jezabel," Albus began - and then she raised her head the barest amount, and from his position on the floor he caught a glimpse of the wild intensity in one of her eyes. Nothing they'd been through over the course of the year had brought that look into her face, and it silenced him.

"At every turn, I ignored it," she continued, voice growing in volume. "Ignored the warning signs of madness, of a grip on reality and sanity loosening ever so slightly over time. Perhaps I should have alerted Professor Nott, but I daresay he would have flayed me for opening my mouth."

"True enough," said Malkin uncomfortably, still unsure whether or not he should be worried about taking on two opponents impervious to his ghostly manipulations. "None other than purebloods were safe in his presence. I had to hide what I was especially w-"

"Your speech is _over,_ " she spat. "We've choked down word after word of your pretentious bile. Now, you will listen."

Albus gulped as he watched the weak, bitter smile overtake Jezabel's lips. If he had been a bit scared of Malkin, he was now utterly terrified of his own friend.

"I'm so inconsequential. No one ever takes note of my presence in the room, bothers to realise my ears are always open. Say, when muttering to themselves that they're fed up with the administration and their 'double standards', or that 'when I figure it out and complete the puzzle, they'll all get their comeuppance'. Why should it matter that Scurvy was there to hear it?"

"Fool," Malkin seethed. "I didn't care. And guess what? I wasn't wrong, it didn't matter. You never lifted a fin-"

 _"Silence!"_ Now her teeth were gritted, and her stance held no unsteadiness. "Every day, every week, every month, you plotted and schemed, writhed in pity for yourself over nothing. I've been a model student and unintrusive nobody whom my Housemates and House-Head spat upon, tormented, and ridiculed for no reason other than my parentage while you floated through classes, squeaking by with mediocre grades and laughing it up with your friends. And now, today, I've sat through a lecture on the towering tragedy that is the life of one Atticus Malkin! How unfair it is that he wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth! What a sad state that all of us haven't fallen on our knees at the sight of the coming Messiah - how we should have spotted the signs in the heavens!"

She took a few heaving breaths, and in the moment of quietude Albus quietly ended the jinx binding his legs to the floor; he wanted to be ready to act, no matter what the next moment brought. But neither he nor Malkin dared try and interrupt her, much less try any magic.

"And I cannot count the number of times I saw you crying alone in the common room at night, curled up into a chair and glaring into the fireplace, assuring yourself you'd come out on top one day. What, do you recall, did I do when I saw this?"

"How should I remem-"

"I approached you with a kind hand and a soothing word," she flung at the boy, lip curling. "Your response was typically a few insults and a backhand to one cheekbone or the other. And I was made to feel as worthless as you, _by_ you. The Great And Powerful Atticus Malkin was above associating with the Muggle-born Slytherin."

"I never wanted your pity," he growled back. "It _chafed,_ having a meaningless scab like you trying to comfort me. Like casting Expulso on a deck of Exploding Snap; it's not going to make it less volatil-"

" _Why_ do you keep thinking I've initiated two-way discourse? You are _finished speaking!"_ Her head tilted back, and now both boys were given full view of the glow her eyes had taken on without aid of ghostly manifestation. How could tears be rolling down her cheeks when she had such a mask of doom etched into her features? "All these years, I tried to keep you from falling away, from descending into the pit of Dark wizardry. My efforts went not only unappreciated, but reviled. In the end, I find out my assessment was bang on; you're mad. Utterly crackers, and dangerous.

"And now... you've hurt Albus."

The transformation in her tones as she spoke this last sentence was remarkable. For an instant, Malkin's own fortitude seemed to gutter like a candle in the breeze, but then he redoubled his grip on his wand. "I have. And why not? He knows too much - has been a thorn in my side since I began using the Chimaera on unsuspecting castle-dwellers. I want him out of the picture."

Jezabel shrugged. "And I want him in it. So it comes down to this; do you concede to my wants... or do you go down fighting for yours?"

_"Serpensortia!"_

_"Incendio,_ " Jezabel said casually, burning the snake alive before it had a chance to land on the ground. "I'm sorry, I'd assumed if you sincerely believed in your principles you'd be making a real effort."

_"Silencio!"_

For a moment, Jezabel frowned as her thin fingers touched at her throat, but then she closed her eyes, smiled, and opened them again. Next instant, Malkin found himself hanging upside down in the air, limbs other than one ankle flailing in all directions.

As he hung there, Jezabel flashed a lopsided smile at Albus and pointed to her throat. Clumsily, he cast the countercurse to return her voice, and she nodded her thanks before shouting, _"Sixth_ year, Malkin! I'm three terms ahead of you - roughly five ahead, by way of sheer knowledge! Why did you believe robbing me of my voice would leave me powerless?"

Then he was sprawled on the stone, pushing hastily to his feet as he wobbled. For the second time that day, he cried, _"Sectumsempra!"_ However, this time he more or less found his target; a deep cut appeared on the very edge of Jezabel's right shoulder, also dropping a lock of hair to the floor. Though it flowed easily, it was small enough that she would likely not faint from anemia. In truth, this was not a product of Malkin's poor aim, but Jezabel's startlingly-quick reflexes.

"Owwie," she whispered mockingly. "Pain seems to be your favoured game. Let's play that, then. _Venterefercio!"_

Immediately Malkin was on the floor, arms wrapped around his abdomen, grunting as his eyes screwed up from a level of pain Albus was afraid to imagine.

"Concede," she barked. "Relinquish your control of the ghosts and allow us to capture you, take you to the teachers. Your punishment should fit the crime, but perhaps they'll find it in their hearts to show you mercy."

 _"Never!"_ He had to take several deep, settling breaths to force more words from his mouth, but eventually he managed, _"Look there!"_

Both Albus and Jezabel glanced around, and it took little time to find what he must have meant. Both swallowed when they saw both of Caspian's hands wrapped tightly around Rose's throat. She, of course, made no move to resist or escape.

"I'll strangle her," he gasped from the floor. "Or _he_ will. The longer you torture me, the longer he'll hold on, and eventually... one less Weasley in the world. I wonder, will she really be missed? There are _so_ many."

"Drop her," Albus ordered. _"Now!"_

"Not until this witch lets up on me!"

Jezabel seemed reluctant, but worry accompanied the anger in her eyes now. "I can't let you harm them. They're more than my friends... they're my family."

The brief glance she spared Albus, the way the corners of her mouth twitched down and her eyelashes fluttered, told him much, so very much. Every corner of his soul made a wish on the stars that this deadly confrontation cease to exist so he could discuss this, talk to her about how right she was, how much he agreed and rejoiced over it. But there was nothing for it; he could only hope he had the chance to revisit the issue later.

Rose's cheeks were turning blue. Sweat was rolling down Malkin's face. With a great swallow moving along her throat, Jezabel raised her wand and Malkin fell to his side, gasping for the breath that had been so hard to come by scant seconds before.

"There," she gusted, shaking like a leaf. "You're free. Now let Rose go."

"First, drop your Shield Charms," he ordered, laughing as he rolled to a crouch. "Albus put up defences against my ghosts. Let them in, and I promise Rosebud will live to annoy us all again."

An eyebrow lifted into her tangled locks. "That hardly waylays my fears."

"Take it or leave it; she's nearly passing on as it is."

"No."

Malkin's gleeful expression turned to one of outrage. "You can't be serious. She'll be a ghost herself in about one minute; act now, or I'll gladly snap her like a dry and brittle twig!"

"But I don't believe you," she hissed. "Because I know you'll keep doing this. You've stumbled upon a taste of power, and now your thirst has been awakened. Giving you control over myself and Albus will never sate it. I doubt anything will."

"You'll just have to take that chance," he replied, standing at last and pointing his wand at her. "Now, lower your shields, or the girl is no more. Final warning."

"And I'll give you a final warning," she said, voice quavering, eyes streaming. Though Albus had been both alarmed and invigorated by the sudden bottle Jezabel had seemed to find, he could see it was all but gone in the face of Malkin's threats. "Lay down your arms and your artifact, give yourself into custody, and I'll not do whatever I must to stop you." Her lip trembled. "Please, Atticus."

 _"'Please'?"_ he laughed, grinning wider and wider as he paced toward her. "You're asking all nice and proper, are you? Well, in that case, of course! By all means, spirit me away to Azkaban! _Bah!_ Pathetic! Are you getting this message deep inside that Mudblood skull? _I WILL NOT SURRENDER!"_ For the second time that day, the Slytherin boy demanded, "What say you _NOW?"_

Jezabel again struggled to swallow. She looked down at Albus and the burn on his arm. She looked at Caspian's hands around Rose's neck. Then she raised her wand, let out a sob, and said in so grief-stricken a voice Albus could scarcely make it out, _"Accio Flamberge."_

The Summoning Charm came so unexpectedly that both Albus and Malkin gawped at her as if the chain of events had driven her to dementia. Due to his confusion, Albus only had the brief glint of steel in the torchlight to help him deduce what was about to happen, and turned his head at the last moment.

_THUNK._

The squelching noise made his gorge roil and threaten to rise, even without visuals. Worse yet, a warm, thick droplet landed on the back of his hand - he didn't dare look to see what it was, but he couldn't keep his eyes from finding their way upward to Malkin, hoping against hope that the logical conclusion was in error.

Rivers of crimson poured down the front of the boy's robes and onto the floor. Albus didn't think he'd ever seen anyone so pale or so shocked before; Malkin staggered back, clutching down toward the swordpoint growing from the centre of his chest like a metallic weed and only serving to cut his fingers in the process. His wand lay on the floor, forgotten. Albus saw, out of the corner of his eye, Caspian and Rose break apart, staggering slightly as they hit the floor knee-first.

"Wh-what?" Malkin sputtered, a droplet of blood falling from his bottom lip. "No, this is... wrong..."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, staring directly into his eyes and watching them cloud over. "I'm so, so sorry, Atticus, I'm sorry. But you forced my hand."

A moment passed as the two Gryffindors who still retained control of their bodies watched Atticus stagger forward, clutching for them, seeking help. None came. He joined Rose and Caspian on the floor, one hand spread on the stone and the other working fruitlessly at the blade. Desperately, he rasped, "Baron! Pull... pull this out of m-"

 _"Accio Chimaera,"_ Jezabel cast next, barely finding the strength to lift her hand and catch it when it flew from around his neck. The Bloody Baron, whom had been nearing them to obey the command, immediately halted. "They... can't save you anyway. None of- of us..."

And she fainted dead away, sinking to the floor as the self-appointed Governor of Ghosts also sagged downward, breathing his last.

_END Chapter Fifty_


	51. Tidying

None of them knew how long they waited in the secret armory. Albus, for his own part, scarcely remembered when Rose had recovered enough breath to find her way over to them, or the precise words when she cried out at the sight of Malkin's corpse.

The first memory he could bring into focus after Jezabel had impaled their fellow student was the bookcase bursting inward and Headmistress Sprout, Professor Longbottom, Professor Finch-Fletchley, Professor Flitwick and - of all people - Mr Urran flooding into the room. It was the sight of the caretaker's well-buffed pate catching the light from the torches that made him snap out of it - what was _he_ doing there? Then Longbottom's hand was in the crook of his arm, pulling him along behind the others, back through the bookcase, the room beyond and into the cold corridor of the dungeons.

Of course, the dungeons. It seemed more than logical to Albus now, but in all the confusion of ropes being Portkeys and fellow students being murderous blackguards he hadn't really given much thought to their location. Ages passed as they ascended several floors, maneuvered around a gargoyle and ascended a staircase to land in the Headmistress's office.

Professors talked at length, which is perhaps what they do best. Caspian did the lion's share of answering their questions, filling in the ugly blanks about the boy who loosed demons on their school, and Jezabel was able to squeak out the few bits he couldn't remember (once she had been fed the antidote end of a Fainting Fancy). Nothing went through to his mind. All he could do was stare at Jezabel, watch her sobbing onto the red, shining surface of the bauble she had confiscated. Once registering that Rose hadn't been choked to death, it was all he could think about: how Jezabel had again borne the brunt of someone's wrath, and in the end had to be the one to put a stop to everything by getting blood on her hands. That struck him as unfair on so many levels he didn't know whether to be outraged, saddened, or both at once.

Finally, one subject came through that he could not block out.

"...and of course, we'll have to announce Malkin's fate to the students," Professor Flitwick was squeaking out, eyes downcast and brow furrowed. "Unpleasant topic, yes, but I think it's only right they-"

"Please, don't," Albus blurted out before he had a chance to think. "That is, er... can't it wait?"

"What's that, Mr Potter?" Longbottom asked. "To what end?"

He fidgeted, staring at his shoes; too many authority figures were watching him intently. "Come on... it's all so horrible, I can't... does it have to be made public knowledge so soon?"

"Afraid so," Sprout said, leaning across her desk and sighing. "A student has been killed - hoisted on self-made petard or not, it's a tragic loss and your peers have every right to know what's happened to him. It would be irresponsible to leave it for later."

"No, it's not that- see, all of us, we can't-"

"I think what Al's trying to say," Rose began, coming to his aid, "is that we don't want everyone throwing blame around and pointing fingers, especially at us. I... I know I've lost so much time so that nothing matches up in my head. It feels... feels like I've gone mad. Incurably mad."

Peele pursed her lips. "There's no stopping the whirlwind of rumours, Weasley. Delaying the inevitable-"

"May be wise," came a voice from the wall. All looked up in time to see a crooked-nosed, white-haired old figure edge into his portrait. "From what I glean, having been, I am ashamed to say, listening in on what may not be an old wizard's business, these four young bodies have been through enough to be going on with this day, and a, er... 'buffer' of sorts may be just the thing."

"Forgive us, Albus," Flitwick said at once, causing Albus to blink in confusion, "but at the cost of withholding information from those whom have a right-"

"What right do they have?" Albus Dumbledore immediately responded, cutting off his former colleague as he stared down at him through half-moon spectacles. "The right to begin gathering a lynch mob as soon as the unwelcome words have left Professor Sprout's lips? Perhaps so, but it will do no real good. Conversely, a day of peace for the impromptu hand of justice and her accomplices will do no real harm."

To Albus's surprise - the younger Albus, that is - their Headmistress began to smile. "Still trying to protect the Potter bloodline, as always."

"Oh, is there a Potter present?" the portrait said glibly, winking down at his namesake. "I hadn't noticed."

This truly was a day for firsts, because for once, Albus found he didn't mind carrying around the name of the greatest wizard of the preceding century.

After a few more minutes of furious discussions as to whom would be coaxed into breaking the news to the Malkins, where they would be keeping the body, the fate of the Chimaera itself, what Madam Pomfrey would be able to do for Caspian and when Mr Urran should start trying to scrub the blood off the floor of the spare armory, the office began to empty of all staff. One professor held back, if only for a moment.

"Potter," Longbottom whispered. Albus didn't have time to answer before he felt something soft being foisted upon him. "Well done."

It was, of course, the Cloak. When Albus's head jerked up, agape, the elder merely shook his head, beaming with pride. Then he was gone as well, leaving the remaining three students alone with a sizable hunk of Honeydukes chocolate the headmistress had conjured for them. No one touched it; though they knew it may make them feel better, it didn't feel as if they should be feeling better after the evening they'd underwent.

"Chin up, lad," the portrait of Dumbledore said cheerfully. "You've done admirably."

"I'm not Harry," he said at once. "Don't think you're congratulating your student on another quest completed."

A chuckle - how could he be _laughing?_ "My boy, did I ever say you were? Though if I am permitted, it is interesting the way blood will out."

"And what do you know about it?" he snapped. He was being petulant without cause, but he had to be angry at someone, and this painting that wouldn't keep silent had elected itself. Great wizard or not, where did he get off? "You think it was all a great chess match? That I put Malkin in checkmate, and Jezabel knocked his king over? Never in my life have I been put in a situation like- like... and there were so many ghosts, and I was running for my life, and all the blood-"

"Tut, tut, tut," Dumbledore soothed. "You speak as if I've never found myself in a pickle. Believe me, there have been countless times, given the choice, that I'd have gladly traded my wand and Galleons for a Muggle's keyring and billfold. But the Fates had other plans."

"Then the Fates suck!"

"Watch it, boy," snapped another portrait with a long, greasy curtain of hair. "Inject a dose of respect into those words; you are speaking with a legend." He paused, satisfied with Albus's thunderstruck face, then squinted at Jezabel's half-hidden face. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"No, I'm sorry, but you can't expect me to be so, to- to take it in stride, like I should have been expecting this all along! My Potter birthright! Has everyone been waiting on tenterhooks for me to find some way to stir up a little more glory for my family, is that it? My father-"

"From the moment your father was born, he was - accidentally, on the wizarding world's part - trained to accept loss and disappointment as normal, and tranquility and contentment as treasured gifts that were few and far between. For him, though he could not have expected to be a Dark wizard's target and spent many days crying out to the heavens and cursing his lot, the transition was somewhat eased by such a pitiable upbringing." The old man steepled his fingers, expression no less warm than it had been throughout their entire conversation. "You, meanwhile, have led the fairly standard, bump-free life of a young wizard in an era of peace. Dark Lords and Death Eaters are harrowing tales from History of Magic for you and your generation. Yet here you are, having locked horns with a boy who may very well have grown into the next Voldemort, and your heart beats, your lungs expand and contract, and apparently your nostrils flare in indignation. I'd say you have done well, Potter or no Potter.

"That goes for all of you," he continued, beaming down at both Rose and Jezabel, who for the first time glanced up from the tyet. "Weasley lineage going strong into this millennium, I see."

"Oh, what did _I_ do?" Rose laughed harshly. "Got possessed and nearly let myself be strangled. Probably would have done better to have stayed in bed this morning."

"Nonsense," he admonished. "The final result of one's actions do not always reflect the actions themselves. But in this case, they do. Perhaps your greatest use was as a decoy, which is less than bolstering, I am sure. Ask yourself this: if you had not been there for Mr Malkin to manipulate, for him to divert his attentions between you and the others, would any of you be sitting around, debating whether or not you should eat some of that fine mountain of chocolate down there?" Dumbledore sighed, staring wistfully at the candy. "Ahh, if only I could have but a single corner of it. Alas, I cannot, for I am a bit dead. Perhaps, if I had allowed a certain elder Potter to intervene instead of making so much effort to hide him that I ended up facing Voldemort's forces alone and wandless, I would not have been blown off the mortal coil at such a time - or in such an undignified fashion. A swan dive, I ask you?"

At this, Rose lapsed into silence, grudgingly admitting to herself that it was possible she wasn't merely in the way.

"As I seem to recall," said yet another portrait from nearby, "you once bragged without shame that the end you met was 'spectacular and necessary'?"

"I said no such thing, Phineas," Dumbedore blustered. "Necessary, of course, but in no way-"

"I'm sorry, sir," Jezabel spoke up, voice strained and raspy from crying. Albus lowered his gaze, unable to see those eyes in their current state. "But... what have I to be proud of? I've just k-kill- killed someone. I killed him, I _killed_ him!"

"He killed himself, my gentle Bellerophoness," the portrait soothed. "Do not for a moment allow yourself to believe he would have passed on gently of old age one day in spite of his odious interests. Opprobriously, your elders could not be counted upon to take care of such a matter before it got out of hand, but such has been the case before. Youth shall inherit the world, or, er... some such rot, the exact phrasing escapes me. A crisis arose, and you did not yield, did not hide."

"But I- but I'm-"

"A Muggle-born Slytherin," he finished flatly for her, eyes rolling in an overdramatic manner. "And the daughter of a Death Eater, and a House-switching banshee, and too meek, and too quiet, and a score of other shortcomings that are quite obviously moot because you mastered your fears and reservations and protected those closest to you! Commendation rather than condemnation is in order, young lady!"

"Listen to the man, Miss Skirrow - he's been known to stumble across the truth when it matters most," said an elderly woman with square-framed spectacles. "By the time I'd left that Muggle household of yours, I knew you would grow to be an exemplary witch in due time. Glad to find my insights didn't taper off toward the end of my years."

Her voice caught. "Y-you knew I-"

"Shame about that nasty mis-Sorting," she continued, clucking her tongue. "I'd like to think, were I still alive, I'd have noticed something amiss and put it right - after all, Gryffindor is written all over your face. Plain as day to me, young lady."

Perhaps her tears stemmed the slightest bit from the last painting's comforting, but what she said next was directed at the late Headmaster Dumbledore. "How do you know so much about me? Are my secrets that widely known now?"

The man's two-dimensional shoulders shrugged. "I know what young Albus's father knows. Perhaps you knew another portrait of myself hangs in his abode?" When she didn't answer, he chuckled. "Or not. An old codger's number of replicas can't be of any note to one with so many burdens of her own."

The three of them issued a collective sigh. The man was well known for his keen intuition, of course, and deep within their hearts they knew he was at least partially right. However, coming from a frame on the wall the sentiments held less weight. The world was still a dark place, and felt as if nothing would ever be the same.

"Now then," he continued anyway. "Have a nibble of that chocolate. I daresay all the spells you've been firing and had fired upon you have taken a toll on your reserves. Honeydukes, isn't it?"

o o o

True to the late and former Headmaster's suggestion, there was no formal address over breakfast the next morning. Anyone with a teaspoonful of awareness could tell that all among the staff, as well as the few Gryffindors privy to the previous evening's gruesome happenings, were dragging along personal clouds of gloom everywhere they went. Without details, the few who weren't imitating ostriches had nothing more to go on than an eerie feeling that brought about a slight frown.

Also, a few students did wonder at the disappearance of Caspian Lewis, Professor Dryden and Atticus Malkin. Shouts of spattergroit could be heard anew in the corridors, but a schoolwide announcement from Madam Pomfrey around lunch ("What will it take to educate you children? One _cannot_ relapse into _SPATTERGROIT!_ ") mostly put those to bed, though the mutterings only grew stronger with no alternate explanations of their actual fates.

However, those who weren't in fifth or seventh year still had the results of their final exams to fret over, so the majority of the castle's population laid aside their suspicions in favour of pacing furiously and hoping they wouldn't find displeased parents berating their academic performance upon their return; somehow, the teachers' proclamations that the results did not come out for weeks afterward were of no aid. Yet no answer came, and especially the fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins couldn't stave off the niggling doubts. Were the ghosts still attacking, even without their tsar on premises? Was the real perpetrator still at large? It made a wizard wonder...

o o o

Those with the knowledge to soothe their classmates' fears were not very forthcoming. In fact, they weren't even speaking to each other. Watching a peer die in front of you, no matter how little you cared for him, leaves a lasting impression. No amount of Honeydukes chocolate or reassuring words would erase the sight of a rusted old blade sticking through Malkin's chest, and it was going to be a while before it stopped haunting their dreams. Without being able to sleep or eat, three students who'd survived the encounter spent that day blundering around in a sullen fog, wondering if a Memory Charm was in order. It had to be better than living with the visions of death.

That evening was an uncomfortable affair in the Gryffindor fifth-year boys' dormitory. One bed was conspicuously empty, Albus could scarcely look at anyone, and Macmillan and Logan, having warmed to Albus a bit more over the past year, insisted on knowing why. Eventually, Wayne - thinking it was somehow partly his fault they had landed where they had - muttered something about having unequivocally blown one of his O.W.L.s and drew his curtains. Unsatisfied, Ryan turned on Albus.

"I don't buy that for a moment," he told him under his breath as Logan left to wash up. "Something's afoot in Gryffindor Tower."

"Paranoid, Macmillan?" Albus snorted. "The way you prance about, you must have laid your O.W.L. anxieties to rest."

"Figure there's no use biting my fingers down to nubs when I won't know jack until Summer. And I appreciate your attempted segue, Alberta, but let's have a drop of truth." He shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning against Albus's bedpost. "Wayne says you practically wrung his hand with gratitude when he told you about some secret room that can zip you off anywhere you want to go - which would be brilliant if genuine, mind you. That have anything to do with your disposition?"

"Ryan-"

A would-be careless grin couldn't disguise his suspicions. "Didn't land yourselves into the middle of the lake or something, did you? Could see that, er, dampening your spirits."

Again, Albus had to resist grinning at him. "The comedy stylings of Mr Ryan Macmillan, ladies and gents."

"It was Dryden, wasn't it?" he pushed in low tones. "He's been the one pulling the ghosts' strings, and you and Lewis caught him at it? Oh, that's rich, that is!"

"Yes and no," he replied grudgingly. "But... you would have been there in the thick of it, wouldn't you? If you'd been the one loitering in the hallway when we were on our way into Hell's mouth. If Rose and Jezabel had been in danger and you'd known of it, you'd have lent your wand."

The impish look that teemed with curiosity ebbed from Ryan's features. "Rose and the Skirrow girl? Wait... did Dryden have both of them chained up? But I thought Wayne said-"

"Wayne isn't big on discretion, I see," Albus said slightly louder than he meant to - and heard the accused's breath halt for a moment through his curtains.

"Who, then?" he asked. "Wayne told us Dryden was in the hospital wing, so unless-"

"Better you don't know, I think. Someone needs a full night's rest around here."

Ryan hesitated, then bent yet lower. "You've probably been wondering why I apologised to you."

It took him a moment to recall what in Merlin's name the boy was on about, but when he did, his brow knit. "Right... ages ago, before Jezabel tried to skive off indefinitely. I had wondered, but with everything that's-"

"Maybe you remember just before I did?" he went on. "We had Care of Magical Creatures that day, and you seemed not to enjoy the invisible steeds as much as the rest of us."

"Thestrals," Albus grunted, lip curling.

"The Slytherins were deriving an obscene amount of joy from your pain. Some of our own classmates - who shall remain nameless - were among the jeering. For whatever reason, watching them blurt a lot of the nasty thoughts that were passing through my own head made me realise that... perhaps there are times when trading insults is just insulting."

"Deep thinking, there."

Ryan grimaced, standing straighter as he brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes. "They took the words right out of my mouth, over and over, and a block of wood could tell you weren't enjoying it. I'd always assumed, given the way you fired back without hesitation, that our razor-edged banter was heightening our preparedness - as I told you then. Yeah, watching you take their ridicule sent my mind back to our detentions in the Forbidden Forest, and the things you said to me there."

Albus, again, had to think. "What did I-"

"You called me out on it - that what, to myself, was merely a game felt like agonising torture to you. Which spoke highly of my witticisms, but less so of me as a wizard. And then, listening to the Slytherins... well, it doesn't always take a prophecy."

Staring up at what he'd once viewed as a sort of rival, Albus could understand and appreciate the effort this took. Ryan was doing his best to sound uninvested and conversational to offset the meaning of his words, but it wasn't working all that well. There was a question that stood out more than how grateful he was that his bunkmate had had such a change of heart, however, and it had to be given voice.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I want you to see that you can trust me," he said stubbornly. "With anything. Just because I used to take the mickey for sport doesn't mean I'd betray you in hopes of a laugh. You, your extended family and the ex-Slytherin are in on this. You owe me the truth; I helped you go find her once."

Albus snickered at the memory of a feigned interest in gillyweed and a gaseous discharge. "You did. And I promise, you'll get all the lovely details soon enough, but suffice it to say everyone from our House is safe. Cor, even Dryden's safe, more or less. Now, please, I'd like to pretend to be asleep for as long as possible or I'll be dead on my feet in the morning." It was even harder to sleep with the burns on his arm tinging, but he kept that to himself.

Ryan nodded to himself, rose, and called over his shoulder, "Might take a bit of valerian root - should have some in your kit. But I don't need to tell the next president of Future Potioneers of England that, now, do I?"

These words were scarcely out of his mouth when the door opened and Logan said, "Hey Ryan, your mum asked me to hand this off to you."

Ryan snatched the small scroll of paper and glanced down it, sighing. "Damn. She must have finally heard I could only half-Transfigure my doorknob into a dormouse; still had a bit of a roundish head."

"Your mum's in the castle?" Albus asked, glad to no longer be discussing either Malkin's death or his own performance in Potions.

"Always is," he laughed. "We've been suffering through classes with her every Tuesday and Wednesday this year, dunce cap, how could you have missed it?"

"Every Tues- wait, you're having me on. Your mother is Professor Abbott?"

Both Ryan and Logan frowned at him, and Ryan said, "Albie, you continue to find new and exciting ways to make sheet rock come off learned."

o o o

Sleep avoided Albus as if he'd caught the Black Death. Every moment his eyes were closed, flashes of blood rolling down the front of green-and-silver-decked robes replaced what he'd normally have been seeing. There came a point where he simply had to get out.

A quick walk in his father's cloak later found him up the West Tower, in the Owlery. It was a spot no student frequented - indeed, if Albus were to hazard a guess, this might have only been his third or fourth visit. It may have had something to do with the stale smell of droppings and dead rat coming from the straw floor, but the wind whistling through the many open windows aided in keeping the worst of it from lingering. To his mild disappointment, all but a handful of the school owls and students' pets were gone, down in the forest hunting for their meals. A quick search revealed Dobby was among the absent.

"Yes - dreadfully lonely place, this."

Albus whipped around, wand raised. "Wh... what?"

"Sorry, my dear lad," Sir Nicholas chortled merrily, hands raised. "I in no way meant to give you a fright - although, one might offer that such unmalicious intentions makes me quite a poor spectre."

"Sorry." He pocketed his wand, rubbing the back of his head with the other hand. "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you, if you'll believe. Or if not, then perhaps I'm avoiding Peeves - he's been more of a handful than I care to endure of late. Something about being robbed of his ability to threaten the students on his own terms... I think it's convinced him he must redouble his efforts."

"Great," Albus laughed. "Something to look forward to next term. So you weren't looking for me at all, then?"

"Well... yes, and no."

"Come again?"

Nick paused, drifting over to a window and looking out over the grounds with his hands clasped behind his back. "I'm... an old ghost, Young Potter. Not that it has much bearing on my vim and vigor, but I've been drifting about these hallowed halls for quite some time. Most of my emotions consist of joy, anger, irritation, sadness, and pride, and even these are somewhat watered-down by an ever-present boredom. Only once since my untimely demise by clumsy beheading - a rare instant in your father's second year - can I truly recall feeling the sensation I've been coping with for the past several months: fear."

"Mmm." Albus leaned his elbows against the next sill over, glancing sidelong at his House ghost. "I guessed you'd have been just as scared as we've been. They were threatening to exorcise you and your mates."

"More than that, my boy, more than that. Yes, it would have been awful to have all four House manifestations wiped out by one cocky young Turk with no regard for the well-being of his peers." He paused, sighed, and turned mistier-than-usual eyes toward his young companion. "But far worse to hang on as an instrument of evil, with no will of your own, no say in the matter, helping to spread misery and mayhem. No, if you hadn't put a stop to his scheme, I would have gladly let Mr Fane destroy what's left of our souls."

"What? But, no, that's- that's crazy, you can't really mean you'd willingly-"

"Yes, I can, and I'll tell you right now that my comrades-in-translucency wholeheartedly agree. That's no way to live your afterlife; better to move on. But I would like to sincerely thank you and your friends for your part in stopping the insanity. For the sake of us and the innocent students, I'm glad you stuck your nose in."

Albus nodded meekly, unable to find a ready response to that. "All right. But... why are you just approaching me?"

"Because one of you is snoring quietly," he sighed, "another is lingering out on the grounds where I cannot reach, and still another is in the prefects' bath, where only Myrtle has the gall to snoop uninvited."

With a laugh, Albus turned and leaned back against the window. "Well, tell the others they're more than welcome. I'm just glad they hadn't already destroyed you before we sorted it - that would have felt like an awfully hollow victory."

"Merlin forbid," Nick laughed, waving a hand as he levitated toward the centre of the room. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

"Nick?" The spirit paused halfway through the floor, and Albus shrugged. "I'm... glad I stuck my nose in, too."

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington beamed up at him, adjusted his ruffled collar, and sank out of sight.

o o o

"How's tricks?"

Albus didn't bother to turn around at Rose's words, continuing his slow walk toward the Great Hall and the noonday meal it promised. Whether or not he would be able to touch a bite was off the point. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes, because it would be unusual for us to bump into each other at the school we attend," she said snarkily. "Come on, give us a smile."

He shook his head, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "What have we got to smile about? None of us can stand the sight of each other because the last sight we all saw was Malkin."

"Maybe it was, but... it was his own bloody fault. If I hadn't been possessed by one of his ghosts at the time, robbed of all control, I might feel a tad sorrier. The toerag had it coming." Nevertheless, the sigh that followed was shaky. "And aside from that, moping around and replaying it on my mental Omnioculars has lost its charm by now. Life goes on."

"And so do we," he finished for her. "Forgive me if I'm not over it at the snap of your fingers."

"You don't have to be. I just think it's mad to dwell and shut everything else out."

There was a certain kind of sense to what she was saying, but Albus wasn't as ready as his cousin to brush aside recent trauma and bask in the sunshine. Atticus Malkin was the second person ever to expire in front of him - second within the span of a year, yet - and the circumstances were about the worst on the list of sticky ends to witness. He took a quick glance at Rose, at the fading ugly bruises along her neck, and turned resolutely away.

"I'm not really hungry," Albus found himself saying. "Think I'll go out for a bit of air."

"Sounds good to me, too."

He gritted his teeth. "You sure you don't have something better to do?"

"Not a thing."

Rolling his eyes as he pushed open the huge double-doors to the grounds, Albus wondered just what it would take to rid himself of a red-haired pest for an hour or two. As it happened, however, the twosome would not only remain so, but grow in size.

"Isn't that Jezzy over there, by the lake?"

Rose wasn't wrong; sitting on the grass several strides away from Dumbedore's white tomb was Jezabel, staring down into her hands with her back to them. She was close enough to gaze over the lake but not so near as to risk falling in. One or two other students were casting furtive looks in her direction, taken aback that the usually solitary creature was out of doors on a beautiful summer day. Albus also found himself curious at this change in behavioural habits. He led the way over.

"Hey there, Jezabel. Mind some company?"

"Yes," she said in a bland tone of voice. "But I don't suppose that would keep you away, would it?"

He couldn't resist a smile; was she joking with them? "No."

"Then sit."

As they did so, Rose asked, "What's that you've got there?"

"The envelope," she whispered, turning it over in her hands. The tiny letters still spelled out "J.E.S." in green, and it was still sealed. "I've been pondering its contents."

"We might cut to the chase and open it."

Miraculously, her humour seemed to continue. "Ahh, but that would involve logic, now, wouldn't it?" She sighed, looking down at her Mary Janes. "You know, I almost lost these... when Malkin took them. If you'd found a way to cut me loose without activating the Portkey and we'd never found-"

"Yeah," said Albus. "Those and your wand. I rather think the wand's more important."

A strained laugh. "Shows what you know. This wand was given to me with my free education; I didn't even pick it out at a wand shop, they just issued it to me. Although, being a witch or wizard's primary tool I of course have grown quite attached, don't misunderstand. But these shoes..."

It was impossible not to smile at her sentimentality. "That'd make Mum glow with pride, it would."

"I don't know if I _do_ want to know what's in it," she went on as if never having remarked about her shoes. "What if it's the final details of how I came to be conceived, in grim and grisly detail? What if it's some- some ghastly task my late mother has set me? I could be commissioned to kill your father once and for all, make up for what she and Voldemort could never accomplish!"

"And I assume once you receive marching orders, you'll carry them out straightaway?" Rose asked with a snort. "Come on, even if you are supposed to snuff the great Harry Potter, how's a ruddy piece of parchment going to make you do it?"

Albus's throat contracted. In their not-so-distant past, being tapped on the nose had sent her into a coma. Then there was the more recent conundrum of spectral possession; all three of them had fallen victim to that. Rose meant well, but her comments came off chilling rather than calming - pieces of parchment could do just that and more in the wizarding world, and they both knew it.

"Just do it," Rose insisted when she saw both his and Jezabel's expressions mirrored each other. "Ripping off a bandage, yeah? Best do it all at once so the pain doesn't last as long. And you never know; it could be the deed to your premises, or the password to open up your safe in Gringotts, or something else of equal mediocrity."

Jezabel glanced at Albus, corners of her mouth turning down. For the sake of Rose and his own curiosity, he forced himself to appear to agree with his relation's mindset. In truth, he was afraid the letter would blow up in their faces, or age them thirty years instantly, or turn them into a three-headed beast, but they were at Hogwarts; if something hurt them publicly in the middle of the grounds, at least one student enjoying the day would rush inside and alert a teacher. Atop that, Hagrid was sitting on the steps of his cabin, throwing birdseed to what may or may not have been normal birds. Though his magic was spotty and less than Ministry-approved, he could at least send up a flare to bring help rushing their way in seconds. Better here than anywhere.

"Go on," he told her. "Might be nothing at all."

Hands shaking with anticipation, Jezabel's long, thin index finger found its way under the corner of the envelope's lip and slid across, breaking the official Ministry seal. Slowly, she pulled out the parchment and shook it open-

And it immediately began to glow blue. The light wasted little time flowing from the page up Jezabel's arms, finally lighting up her long, tangled hair like a Tannenbaum before fading way, leaving her expression distinctly taken aback.

"Jez?" Albus asked. "What's wrong?"

"We..." A quick swallow as she glanced between the two of them. "We have to get out of Hogwarts."

_END Chapter Fifty-One_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! So most of it's done by now... and a long, long roller coaster ride it's been. Because I don't think I have, I wanted to take a moment to thank those of you who haven't reviewed but HAVE subscribed to the chapter alerts or author alerts. Readership is readership... and I understand, sometimes you may like something but have nothing in particular to say, and thus, you refrain. It's perfectly acceptable. But if you DO have something to say, I'm all ears! One other thing - maybe by now this doesn't count as a spoiler, but... there are three more chapters left after this. Oops, cat's out of the bag! See you soon!


	52. The Origin Of Webs

"What?" Rose gasped.

"No, we only-" A cough interrupted Jezabel's words as she peered along the lakeshore, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. "If we don't leave the grounds, I won't be able to take us there."

Albus, muscles in his shoulders and legs still tensed and ready for action, asked her, "Where?"

"Wherever it is. Because, unless I'm grossly mistaken, this parchment's just given me Apparition coordinates."

"Ah," Rose sighed with relief. "Then what was all that about fleeing the castle like our arses are ablaze?"

A quick shrug. "Well, anyone who's read _'Hogwarts: A History'_ knows you can't Appar-"

"Ugh, please don't finish that," Rose groaned. "Mum practically used it as a bedtime storybook for the first six years of my life. You can't Apparate here, so we'll need to be elsewhere. But you don't know where we're going?"

"Not really," she confessed, eyes seeming to scuttle behind her fringe without her truly moving. "That is, I know exactly how to get there, but I haven't the faintest idea what we'll find. Er... that is, assuming you'll accompany me?"

Albus and Rose exchanged a look of dread. A parchment had just said to their dear friend, "Please go here! You could be marching to your doom, but you won't get splinched beforehand!" What on earth could be waiting for them on the other side?

Then again, this envelope and its contents had been given to them by the Minister for Magic, a former Auror, and his well-trained staff. A slim chance that it could truly be a Dark artifact remained, but was highly unlikely; would they really hand over something truly dangerous to a student? No, scary as the prospect was, the next misadventure wouldn't kill them.

Probably not.

"Y-you don't have to, though," Jezabel hastily continued. "Come along, that is. No, no, I just meant that _if_ we were going, we would need to be-"

"Of course we're coming," Al soothed her, even though he could tell Rose hadn't quite made up her mind yet. "Can't let you face the unknown alone, can we?"

Shooting a brief annoyed look at her cousin, Rose said, "Yeah. I mean, I've been forced to snog Al this week - hard to imagine something worse at our destination."

"Har, har."

"Oh, but why do I have to go anywhere at all?" Jezabel was moaning, moving to shove the letter back into her envelope. "Couldn't they have- oh, look, I hadn't noticed that..."

When Albus leaned over her shoulder, he also found the single line of text in the centre of the folded parchment, written so small that it was no wonder she had failed to spot it earlier: "The details of your prologue await."

"Ominous, eh?" Rose scoffed. "Was the old Lestrange bat affiliated with the theatre?"

"This is all so pointless," Jezabel continued dejectedly. "We can't even get outside the protective spell on these grounds until we leave for King's Cross, and I don't believe that would be a desirable time to Apparate us away - unless we want them scouring the countryside for us day and night."

"Hang on," Albus said, so surprised by his own thoughts that he stood involuntarily, hand at his chin. "I think I may have a way."

o o o

A few hours later found the trio grouped together in a seemingly-innocent corridor on the fourth floor, dressed fully in Muggle clothing and speaking in hushed voices. Albus knew he had already agreed to help Jezabel see this through, but that alone wasn't enough to quell the sense of impending doom in the pit of his stomach. Were they about to teleport themselves into the depths of an active volcano, or - worse yet - Mr Urran's office?

"Should we have dressed more warmly?" Jezabel was fretting. "I know it's Summer, but where we're going it may be colder than it is here! I- I think I may know a spell to warm us up a bit, but it has the nasty habit of turning the subject's skin bright orange and I never further researched a way to circumv-"

"Shhh," Rose hissed at her, shouldering the schoolbag she had set on the floor while waiting for the rest of them. "If we're going to Siberia, I've got a Pepper Imp or two, and I think Al has some. Besides, if it's that horrifying where we end up-"

"Yes, yes," she said, nodding in an effort to reassure herself. "We Apparate straight back to the tunnel and forget it ever happened. As long as we can retreat I suppose there's no real danger."

Albus thought this wasn't necessarily true, but kept it to himself. "Right. Well, then if there are no more objections... it's right over here. The cloak, Rose?"

At his cue, Rose withdrew the Invisibility Cloak from within her bag and threw it over all of them. Crouching slightly, it did manage to cover the three students. Taking a deep breath to make his veins stop throbbing in such an off-putting fashion, he led them toward a large mirror on the opposite wall.

"Anyone coming?"

"No," Rose assured him. "Now let's hurry before that becomes untrue."

Albus first pulled on the left side, but it didn't budge. Then he yanked on the other; nothing again. He was about to whip out his wand and try something else when he thought to pull from the bottom. The mirror was quite heavy, but he did feel it give the tiniest inch. It seemed the framing was fit very snugly into the doorway, so a person who bumped into it wouldn't jostle it loose and accidentally discover this secret. Another heave, and it was swinging upward to admit them.

"Quick now, go on!" Rose said, glancing behind them as Albus held it open for Jezabel. Shoving her bag ahead of herself, Rose finally joined them inside the tunnel.

"Lumos," Albus whispered to his wand. By the meager light, he could see an iron-wrought handle near the bottom of the frame; Rose, taking this cue, grabbed it and yanked hard, sliding the mirror back into its place. Nodding, they started off down a windowless corridor that ended at the top of a spiral staircase.

"Awfully steep," Rose remarked. "What if one of us should trip? We'd have a bunch of broken necks."

"Then we'll have to keep our footing," Albus shot at her. "And thanks for staying positive." He could more feel her mouthing his own words silently at him in a mocking manner than see it.

It took them a few minutes to reach the bottom of the stairs, and this only dropped them at the beginning of a narrow tunnel black as pit. Three wandtips scarcely kept them from stumbling over rocks and ridges. Then, after a goodly journey, they hit a snag.

"Blast," Rose exhaled, leaning against a nearby wall. "Caved in. We won't be going any further out, will we?"

Albus rested a hand on the mound of rubble. It was most certainly sealed tight, and had been for some time. "What if there's a branch we missed? Or could we have to climb..."

"No," Jezabel said simply. "I don't believe there's a hole in the ceiling - and I hadn't noticed any adjoining tunnel mouths back there."

Rose sighed. "So much for that bloody map. Now what?"

"Hang on," he told both of them. "Okay, we're not in Hogsmeade yet. But we've been bounding along for ages, and we _have_ to be far enough out that Jezabel can Apparate us away."

"Or we could try a well-placed Reductor curse to relieve us of this obstacle," Jezabel laughed nervously. "Certainly witches and wizards such as we can do something about a cave-in!"

"Or," Rose countered, "we could leg it back to the castle and bin this whole business."

Al wanted to kick Rose very hard. Actually, a cruel sort of glee surged up when he considered taking Jezabel back to the stairs and ordering Rose to blast through the cave-in alone. Then he sighed and turned to Jezabel. "Let's try Apparating. If we're still underneath the grounds, I don't imagine anything will happen at all, so there's little harm done."

Both girls nodded at him. Albus and his cousin firmly latched onto one of Jezabel's sleeves apiece, fingers finding her arms within. "Right then," she told them, voice scarcely audible. Her throat was so dry at this point that it took two swallows before she was capable of speech again. "On three. One... two..."

"Merlin!" Rose wailed.

"Three!"

The sensation was no more agreeable than the last time Albus experienced it: he felt like toothpaste being squeezed onto the brush. Darkness closed in on all sides, muffling his thoughts and tightening in his chest until he could not be sure he would survive. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over, and the three of them were standing on a dreary cobblestone street, a light drizzle falling on their heads and shoulders.

Their destination was astonishingly disappointing. Albus wasn't sure what he had expected, but this was a grimy, festering old Muggle street - most of the premises there were surely condemned. At the end of this avenue was a house that somehow stood out, despite the fact that its state of disrepair differed little from the surrounding homes.

"Urgh," whispered Rose. "What a stench... is there an open manhole nearby?"

Albus swallowed, hand straying to rest on the wand in his jeans pocket. "Jezabel... are you sure we haven't ended up down the wrong street? This is-"

"This is right," she whispered, approaching the house at the end. "Not that I, er, have any idea where in the world this street is located. If we'd gone astray, I'd know."

"How?" Rose was still wrinkling her nose as she took a quick step to keep pace. "How do you know this is the place?"

"I just do! Come on, please don't question my proficiency in Apparition at a time like this!"

The cousins glanced between each other. The assertiveness was a welcome change, but they had come along to support her, after all. Did she have to snipe at them so readily? But Jezabel was already at the door, knocking soundly.

"What do we do if a troll's waiting in there?" Jezabel continued in a low voice, glancing behind them. "Or a boggart? Oh, we should have asked one of our professors to come along, just to be on the safe s-"

 _"Shh!"_ Albus hissed. All of them strained to listen; no sounds came from within. Jezabel knocked once more, and again they waited. Not a sound. Then she tapped the lock and uttered an Alohomora, and instantly a gravelly voice filled with the promise of vengeance and spilled blood spoke into the night.

_"FULL NAME..."_

Both Jezabel and Rose were gripping Albus's arms, and Albus knew his own fingers were digging into one of theirs, though he couldn't feel them just then. Hesitantly, he whispered, "What?"

The voice did not speak again. After the span of a brief heart attack, Rose reached forward and tried the knob, but it was still locked. Not sure what else to do at this point, Jezabel tried the unlocking charm, and immediately the voice came again: " _FULL NAME..._ "

"Albus Severus Potter," he replied. And so did the voice.

_"NO!"_

And Albus was blown back - the suddenness of this alone almost put him in an early grave. Once they had all stopped screaming and realized he was merely pushed from the doorstep and onto the cobblestones below, they calmed slightly.

"You try it," he said as he rubbed his backside. "This is your inheritance, after all."

Jezabel's lip quivered for the barest moment before she turned back to the door, tried unlocking it, and listened to the disembodied voice ask for her name. Then, she cleared her throat politely and answered, "Jezabel Evelyne Skirrow."

And right then, when Albus heard her announce the name between her family and given, something clicked within his mind. Perhaps that password hadn't been so arcane after all.

The door swung in, and a draught of stale, musty air greeted their nostrils. Inside, all was dark - save an odd trail of glimmering dust that seemed to hang in midair. After Albus stepped a bit further in, he saw it led straight across the sitting room that, in point of fact, looked as much like a study as a parlour. Most of the furniture was on end, and a few glass things had been smashed ungraciously. The walls were lined with bookcases, and though one or two had been hurled into the corners, the larger sum were in place and seemed well taken care of.

"Get a load of this," Rose snorted, picking up a four-armed candelabra from the floor that looked as if it were made of bones. "Quite eccentric tastes."

"Don't cut yourself," Jezabel warned. "There's glass everywhere. As a matter of fact, that candlestick may be a cursed item, so I think you should put-"

"Look," Albus interrupted.

The other two turned to see what he meant, and it became obvious within seconds; the trail of dust had settled against one shelf, onto a particular book; its title had been worn off over centuries (or millenia) of use. With a slight shrug, Rose reached out and yanked on it.

"NO!" Jezabel gasped. "Don't do that, what if-"

But the wall was already swinging open to reveal a thin, steep staircase set against a shallow indentation. It looked as if it were carved from stone, yet the surface shone metallic.

Rose seemed pleased. "There. That wasn't so awful, now, was it? Come on, let's see what's-"

"Hold up for a moment," Jezabel pleaded. "Are we really prepared for whatever may be up there? I... I don't want to get either of you killed out of mere curiosity! There've been so many close calls this year alone, and it seems as if poking into this mystery now is testing the Fates' patience more than is wise!"

"Fine, then." Rose whipped out her wand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear casually. "We won't go into this without being prepared. I say it's time we put whatever this is to rest."

"Hear, hear," Albus intoned.

Their friend took a long, hard look at them, deep brown eyes barely visible in the light from the dirt-stained windows. She seemed at a loss. Whether this was because she was touched by their display of loyalty, or worried that they themselves were touched, would have to remain unclear because her next action was to produce her own wand, light it and lead them up the stairs.

The tiny bedroom had so very obviously not been used in over a decade. Dust coated every inch of it, and it was barren and functional; a sheetless bed, a wooden table. The only things that merited further investigation were a small jewelry box on the bed, a footlocker, and a huge stone basin in the centre of the table.

As the other two hung back, waiting for the vampires to come crawling out of the floorboards, Jezabel reached for the box on the bed. It took her thin, shaking fingers a moment or two to crack it open, but when she did, she spun to look at them.

"Ohhh, Merlin..."

"What is that?" Albus asked her.

"It's... well, I can't be sure, but from all the descriptions I've ever read this has to be..." Both cousins waited an eternal moment, and at last she held the glowing phial up to eye level. "It's a memory. Which means this is..."

Now, she was standing in front of the stone bowl, staring between it and the alleged memory she had recovered from the box. With a flick of her wand, she unstoppered it and quickly dumped the cloudy, fog-like contents in, where they swirled to and fro, roiling like the steam above stew.

"Weird," was all Rose could come up with.

"I'm... I'm afraid," she told them. "Th-this is something we've never covered in class, I- and I never asked about it further, I simply assumed I might learn about it in my seventh year, b-but now here I stand, and I'm not sure we should be doing this at all!"

"Doing what?" Albus pestered. "What can you do with it?"

Jezabel swallowed, set her wand down on the table and stared between them. "The two of you... would you rather stay here, or come with me?"

"Eh?" Rose said immediately. "Where might you be going?"

"I have to go!" she squeaked, eyes popping as she tossed the empty phial down on the bed again. "This seems too important to let it pass, but I w-would be ever so grateful if you accompany me! Just... if you'd rather stay behind, please let me know now and I won't hold it against anybody. But I will be going in, with or without you."

"We're coming along," Albus told her forcefully - and a small corner of his brain saluted the Sorting Hat for being so keen as to place her in the Hogwarts house most associated with bravery when nobody else would have. "In for a penny..."

Rose gawped at him for a moment, scandalised, then sighed irritably before stomping over toward her and the basin. "I'm certainly not letting you two ditch me in this rotting shack."

Jezabel's hands were already gripping their shoulders tightly. For no apparent reason, she paused to place a quick peck on the nearest cheek of either of them - which caused Albus to flush, and Rose to cry out in alarm. Then, without allowing them a moment to regroup, she shoved her face into the bowl.

"Really!" Rose had a second to shout - before they were falling helplessly, end over end, into an abyss of grey and uncertainty. The very moment he felt it suctioning them inside, he expected the strain and claustrophobia of Apparition, but this was more like being knocked off a broom by an unexpected gust of wind. In contrast, he found it was almost pleasant.

Then they were standing in the Headmistress's office. Immediately, Albus felt a lump rise in his throat as he cast around for a hiding place, or something he could use to prove what had just happened. Instead, all he found was Jezabel and Rose standing to one side. Were they all about to have enough detentions heaped on them to last until they left school? He was about to ask what they thought of all this when a knock sounded.

"Enter," a low, oily voice intoned. There wasn't even time to find its source, for the knocker obeyed, and in strolled a tall, pale woman with blonde hair and a strained, dour expression. She reached the desk, held up a roll of parchment, and thwacked it down on the desk as hard as possible, knocking what appeared to have been a confiscated Fanged Frisbee over.

"What is the _meaning_ of this?"

"How good of you to stop by," the voice continued, as if her words had been a casual greeting followed by discussion of weather. "I gather you have received my correspondence?"

"You... you have no right to demand this of me," she continued, the tiniest bit of pink burning in her alabaster cheeks. "This goes against- it's- it's utterly horrid, and indecent!"

"What I have asked for is a paltry pittance in light of what you've asked of me," he growled, finally turning in the Headmistress's chair to face her. And immediately, Jezabel gasped.

"Shut up!" Rose hissed. "You'll get us all caught!"

"It's him," she whispered as the woman continued screaming at the hook-nosed man behind the desk. "There can be no mistaking, it- it's Snape! Head- and Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape!"

Albus felt his heart plummet. Hadn't it been bad enough that he'd sat on his namesake's final resting place this year? Now he was forced to _meet_ him? It gave Rose pause, as well, for she said, "But... isn't he-"

 _"Shh!"_ Albus warned. "What if they hear us?"

"They won't hear," Jezabel told him quickly. "We're inside a memory, it's not as if we can actually affect its outcome. Now please keep quiet, I want to hear what they're saying."

"...pushes the boundaries of comradeship," the fair-haired woman was ranting. "Honestly, for you to assume that I'd be perfectly happy to go along with-"

"Dearest Narcissa," Severus Snape told her with a falsely sweet smile, "I never assumed anything of the sort. However, given that I have made an Unbreakable Vow - and thereby put my own life on the line for the sake of your little Draco - I had certainly been optimistic that you would realise you owe me a sizable favour." There was no immediate answer, so the man's greasy eyebrow inched up into his equally-greasy black hair. "Surely you do understand the gravity of such a vow? Your sister seemed to."

"What Bella understands is beside- I haven't- oh, Severus, this is just so very repulsive!" she burst out, sounding more and more defeated. Similarly, each time she used a word such as "repulsive", the man called Snape rolled his cold black eyes. "To _use_ me like this? Isn't there some other way, some other task you might ask of me to square things between us? If it's money you're after, I would be more than-"

"Money?" A genuine smirk appeared for the most fleeting of moments on the man's lips before he continued. "Of what use are Galleons in an era of, ahh... 'reform' such as this? My dear woman, I apologise for how this must seem, but my mind is made up. This is the single thing left on Earth that I desire." His eyes dropped to the desk as he went on in more businesslike tones, "I'll thank you to accept that readily and discontinue this meaningless debate. The Dark Lord has other tasks that require immediate focus."

The woman stared down at him coldly, thin lips set. Now that no one was talking and he had a moment to think, Albus decided that she wasn't exactly unattractive, though she must spend so much time entertaining such unpleasant facial expressions that the fine wrinkles that were only beginning to appear were in the wrong places. Then, with her long blonde hair whipping behind her, she spun and strode for the door. Her hand had just reached the knob when she said, "Severus."

He did not answer. A moment passed as he shuffled a few papers, then unstoppered an inkwell. Finally, she cleared her throat and asked, "Where shall I find..."

"It will make its way to you," he informed her as he dipped a quill into the inkwell. "When necessary."

Another pause. She clutched at the collar of her travelling cloak, drew a deep breath, and muttered "Very well" before striding out and slamming the door behind.

"I don't understand," Jezabel muttered, watching as the man scratched something out onto the parchment before him. "Why are we here? What is this?"

"Well, you're better off asking someone other than me," Rose scoffed. "Fifth years must not get to play with things like this, because I've _never-_ "

"No, not that," she sighed, walking around the desk. Even when she came to stand mere inches behind the former Hogwarts Headmaster, he did not flinch or give any other indication that she was real to him. "We're in a Pensieve, and this is one of his memories - that much I understand. What puzzles me is the purpose. Why was I brought here to witness this moment? Obviously my birthmother intended me to or she would not have bothered t-to... eh?"

Albus and Rose hesitated a moment before joining her by the desk, where they saw the very line of text that had been on the parchment that summoned them to begin with: "The details of your prologue await." As they struggled to put two and two together, he touched his wand to its surface, illuminating it briefly in a bluish glow. He then stuffed this into an envelope, sealed it with a tap of his wand, and approached a nearby owl cage, where a small, dark owl was sleeping with its head tucked into its wing.

"Come now, Ganymede," the man cooed as he eased the door open. "Wake up, you've a task. Off to the Ministry. Sloth is one of the seven, you know."

The sleepy creature was still doing its best to rouse itself when Snape had finished tying the letter to its leg. Then, after pursing his lips to consider for a moment, he strode purposefully to the window, black robes billowing behind him, and tossed it out, where it winged away into the evening sky.

 _"Muffliato,"_ he cast, twirling his wand above his head. Nothing seemed to happen. Then, much to their shock, he beckoned to them from behind his back.

"No!" Jezabel cried out, eyes wide through her veil of hair. "That's impossible, the laws of- he can't know we're here, there's no way!"

A heartbeat later, he did it again; hand in the small of his back, his fingers flexed in and bade them step forward. With little else to do while trapped in the past, the three of them approached, stopping within a few inches of the man as he stared out over the Hogwarts grounds.

"I haven't much time," he said in what was too quiet even to be a whisper. "If a skilled enough wizard or witch were to be eavesdropping, it would take them but a few minutes to sense my spell and devise a way around it. Please listen well.

"The Dark Lord has me here to keep this school in line, and to quash any stirring rebellion among those students most loyal to the late Dumbledore. If he had any idea I had been sneaking off to give aid to the _true_ threat, my life would be immediately forfeit. Therefore, the utmost secrecy is necessary. The very moment I am through, I shall remove this gossamer memory, bottle it and send it directly to my own premises, where only three people will be able to access it: myself, your mother, and you."

Jezabel paced around as the man swallowed, closing his eyes to gather his courage. Albus could see her expression softening, the confusion fading. "Oh..."

"I do wish I could know whether you will be a boy or a girl," he mused, a wistful smile growing into his lined, severe features. "Oh, I could have manipulated the outcome, turned you into an image of my own personal design and liking; I am an accomplished enough wizard to manage this. However, your very existence is enough, and I would prefer you look back on your childhood and realize that the largest part I had in it was its inception."

"Bloody hell!" Rose burst out.

"You will surely be asking yourself why. Why should this man care to create an heir? The answer is... I'm not sure myself." He considered his own question. "One might perceive that I've become a touch maudlin in these final years. Final, because surely I will not survive this battle - a death severely overdue. No matter. Much more imperative is that I have done what I have done, and I fully expect dear Narcissa to make good her recent obligation to use a spell I have stored for her to conceive you once this bloodbath has reached its finale. Now, either she is watching this and laughing, or you are watching this and are rather appalled. If the latter, I can only hope she has raised you to be at least a passable human being and a capable witch or wizard - as you must be, if you've struggled through the Mentacles and found your way to Spinner's End. Do forgive me for testing your worth, but... it wasn't such an impossible puzzle, was it? 'Origin of webs'? A mild challenge to lead you from present to past. Set your blood pressure at ease; there aren't any more surprises lurking within your own body."

Jezabel's eyes were gushing like twin waterfalls as she watched the man whom had so casually divulged that he was her father by use of swirling vapours in a bowl. What did she make of this? What could _anyone_ make of such a revelation?

"It is a vain hope that this knowledge will not disgust and anger you, as I am certain to be the very last being you had hoped to have sired you. That is an area I understand all too well. But you have never been struck, nor berated, nor cast aside as worthless. In that, I am at least kinder than my own patriarch; I had no chance to destroy your childhood as mine was. Though they may be cold and callow, I trust the Malfoys enough to know the worst they will do is spoil you rotten, and that is, comparatively, an acceptable fault."

"The Malfoys?" Albus found himself whispering. Rose's elbow met his ribs, and he did not hold it against her; he should not be interrupting this. Still, how was he supposed to react when learning that in some insane manner, Jezabel had ended up being raised by entirely the wrong people?

"But all creatures great and small must have parents," Snape was muttering. "I have wizarding blood in my veins, and thus, you do as well. Even as a squib, you would stand a better chance of producing magical offspring than mere Muggles. My personality may have been twisted and ruined from birth, but it is with no pride whatsoever that I note my prodigious talent in the area of wizardry, and in an era when great witches and wizards are growing scarce, I shall spin the wheel of fate for a small chance to create a legacy that may surpass me. Selfish, I confess. Oh, but I desperately hope you've gained your mother's looks rather than... well."

This strange, overgrown bat of a man turned slightly as he produced his wand. "I've left behind for you a selection of my books and other papers detailing my research into the areas of spellwork and potion making. Some Dark, some otherwise. Let it be known that my personal wish is for you not to venture down the path of evil as I once did, but a father from beyond the grave has little say in his children's futures."

His wand gravitated up to his temple, but drooped slightly as he added, "And so you needn't live without knowing - your middle name, which I've informed Narcissa is non-negotiable, is an amalgam of the only two women I ever loved: 'Eileen' Snape, née Prince, and Lily 'Evans'. That, if nothing else, is something of mine you shall always carry with you. If you are my son, I apologise for it having such a feminine ring; let's pray your peers do not catch wind of it. And if I've a daughter... make that three women."

And the very second Snape's wand reached the side of his head, the three of them were flying, flying up and out of the Headmaster's office and through the clouds, finally landing on the floor in the dingy old room down a dingy old street, Jezabel's lit wandtip still illuminating the walls and their faces.

"My God," she breathed. "He was... he w-"

"Do you believe any of that rubbish for a moment?" Rose burst out. "How... how _dare_ he! Go through all this trouble to set up a, a- a _trap_ of information! This sort of thing ought to be-"

"Rose..."

Now that he drew her attention to it, all of them were staring at the object they had left glowing in the darkness. Albus raised his own and lit it, and when Rose saw what they saw she took in a sharp breath.

"Say, it looks awfully similar to the wand he just used to... wait a moment. Could he have...?"

Albus and Rose could only look on with mingling wonder and pity as Jezabel scooped up her father's wand, sank to the floor and began crying in earnest.

_END Chapter Fifty-Two_


	53. Calumny And Disparagement

Close to an hour had passed before Jezabel had managed to process the influx of information about her origins. Not that Albus was naïve enough to think she'd truly come to grips, but at least she could speak and move again. Both he and Rose were startled when she performed a tricky bit of magic that transferred the contents of the footlocker (which turned out to be the books and papers Professor Snape had mentioned) into her pockets, which now expanded to fit all of it quite comfortably. Soon after they left the shambles behind and returned to Hogwarts, after which Jezabel disappeared. Neither of them felt they had the right to chase after her; she needed time.

Little though they themselves felt like being around their peers, they ambled slowly up to the common room, where they were met with questions of their whereabouts. Rose was quick to assure anyone who asked that they'd been strolling around the grounds.

"That's all fine and good," hissed Lily. "But I've been worried sick! Both Caspian and that Slytherin boy disappeared, you know, so you might have let a close family member know where you'd run off to!"

"What do you mean?" Albus said, suppressing a grin. "Caspian's right over there."

As it so happened, he was presently stepping in through the portrait hole, and had apparently spotted Albus at the same moment. He winced every other step, but otherwise looked well enough. "Hey," he muttered.

"Beat it," Albus said to Lily. Her eyebrows spiked, but luckily he had offended her sufficiently that she obeyed without question.

"All right, Lewis?" Rose asked, eyes soft with pity.

He nodded weakly. "I suppose. Nasty pounding left behind, but Madam Pomfrey said I've healed up enough to make it to the Leaving Feast. I've a query or two for you, Albus."

"Yeah?"

The boy glanced around at the other students, then led them over to the squashy armchairs by the fire. "Back in the... well, in the fight. Perhaps you didn't, and it would be quite understandable if I was simply imagining things, but I had the distinct impression that you... well, you pulled off magic well beyond our year."

Albus frowned as he dug in his pocket for a Fizzing Whizbee. "Did I?"

"You made an attempt at Legillimency, didn't you?"

Rose looked perplexed, but Albus only laughed. "Oh... yeah, I did at that. Did you... no, you can't have actually heard me?"

"Well... yes and no." Caspian ran a hand over his golden hair, normally so tidy but presently a bit disheveled. "I thought I heard my name in my head, but it didn't sound like your voice much. And then I heard a bunch of jumbled muttering." When he saw Albus's face fall, he hastened to add, "However, even that is astounding if you've never studied the art! It's said to take months of training to become even a journeyman Legillimens or Occlumens!"

"Al, you never said anything about learning to shoot your brain into others!" Rose snorted, punching him in the shoulder. "You  _have_ been apprenticing with Dryden after the mentacles incident, haven't you?"

"Don't be stupid," he retorted as he rubbed his arm - her fist had landed just off the mending Flagratattoos. "I just... thought about what that had felt like, and tried to tap into the same vibes. At least it worked, more or less. Really lucky we happened upon you on our way to that teleportation room."

"Lucky I was coming out of the loo just then," Caspian chuckled, leaning back. "Crikey, it's... I mean to say, with all we've studied about past wars and grand skirmishes of wizardkind, I never expected to be in one as long as I lived - not in peacetime! But I did have one other question."

"Go nuts," Rose answered for him.

"Somehow, you took a few blows to the chest and... it didn't leave the slightest mark. How in blazes did you block that? It would be a hell of a Shield Charm to put on yourself!"

"Wasn't any charm," Albus informed him proudly. "And I'll only tell you because you went through all of it with us, but... I was wearing a very special birthday present."

"No way," Rose gasped. "No bleeding way, that's- Al, that's absolutely brilliant, I never would have thought of Hagrid's manticore vest! No wonder we made it out alive!"

Caspian's eyes were wide as saucers now. "You've got a  _vest_ of manticore hide?"

"I snuck it on when you went to fetch the teachers," Al told Rose. "That reminds me, I really should thank Hagrid properly for that..."

o o o

In light of that, Albus and Rose did make their way down to Hagrid's, who was thrilled to no end that his gift had been so instrumental in their defeat of Atticus Malkin (of which, by that time, the staff was all well aware). The three of them examined it as the gamekeeper reminisced about the mokeskin pouch he'd given Albus's father once upon a time, and how the elder Potter had used it to store all manner of valuables on the road to defeating Lord Voldemort. The description seemed vaguely familiar to them, and Albus thought he might check a certain drawer in an old battered chest once they returned home...

The time for the feast drew nearer and they all headed up to the castle together. They had only set foot inside when they became aware of the ruckus, and soon after they came to its source.

"Dorika!" Rose cried, clapping her hands on the blonde girl's shoulders. "Merlin, you're back! When?"

"Only an hour ago," she squeaked as everyone continued to demand answers. "There was quite an upset when orders were delivered that I should be released, but I am ever so glad they were! Y-you don't know what it's like, being walled in and told you're a murderer, having your wand taken away!"

"They didn't destroy it!" Aqua said, icy-blue eyes alight with the prospect of gossip from inside the prison.

"No, of course not! I hadn't been given a proper trial yet, so pending that they locked it away. I... it was so awful in there I even tried calling out to it, seeing if I could summon it to myself, but they must have measures in place to counteract-"

"Either way, it's good to have you back," Monica Grey told her as she threw her arms around her senior housemate's neck. "Not  _all_ of us believed you were a cold-blooded killer, you know!"

Several students were nodding their agreement when a voice rang out, "There's nothing saying she isn't, though. How do we know they didn't up and decide they lacked the evidence to keep her on ice?"

"Belvina," Albus groaned.

"Don't think I've forgotten about my arm," Belvina Hitchens squawked as she made her way down the aisles. "It still twinges when a storm is brewing! And when are you going to cough up my ring?"

"What is the matter with you?" said Nora Bones. "She's been in  _Azkaban!_  D'you really think losing your stupid ring holds a candle to that?"

"Yeah, piss off, Hitchens," Aiden McLaggen put in. "I'm sure I speak for the rest of the school when I say we've had about all we can stand of your paranoia."

"I still think it was the Skirrow girl," Brunhilda Vane offered from where she was leaning against a nearby pillar, arms crossed over her chest. "Say, has anyone caught sight of her lately?"

Albus's arms had enough time to tense up before Rose's hand reached the crook of one elbow. "Not worth it," she muttered through her teeth, before saying aloud, "You've been wrong about her before, though - or have you forgotten? Might want to give your Remembrall a gander now and then."

"It will take more than an arrest to convince me," she went on, either unaware of how close she had come to being hexed or politely ignoring it as she had Rose's pointed comment. "So many things are wrong with this picture, and they all lead back to the Muggle-born Slytherin-Gryffindor convert. Why has everyone stopped investigating these incidents when the true culprit is most likely right under our noses?"

"Now, tha's not what yeh'd call wise," said Hagrid, reminding everyone that he had been hanging back while they discussed the current state of affairs. Albus was able to breathe again when he saw Brunhilda's round face slacken at being scolded by the half-giant. "Shakin' a finger o' blame at yer own housemate. Why, imagine how yeh'll feel when it turns ou' she had nothin' ter do with it! Yeh've gone an' sullied th' name o' Gryffindor for naught, an' made yerself out ter be a cheeky busybody along the way!"

"But Professor, that girl is more suspicious than a bag of-"

"Careful with yer words," he warned, small eyes narrowing above his rosy cheeks. "Tha's all I'm sayin'."

As the gamekeeper strolled off toward the High Table, both Belvina and Brunhilda took a moment to glare at each other before they spun and headed off toward their respective house seats. One by one, everyone else moved along, but Dorika hung back.

"Thanks," she whispered, swiping at her bloodshot eyes. "For believing in me. I overheard the Ministry wizards saying you had a hand in clearing my name?"

Rose squirmed - both due to guilt and from finding out that rumours were already circulating. "Well... yes, and no. I mean, we happened upon the true culprit, but we weren't exactly deputy Aurors."

"Though we were never sold on you as the villain," Albus hastened to add. "Not wholeheartedly. Didn't feel right."

The gratitude in Dorika's face seemed to wane, but still she smiled at them. "Ah. Well, er... thank you, all the same." Then she squeezed his forearm briefly before joining the other Hufflepuffs, where she made sure to sit well away from Belvina.

 _"Cow,"_ Rose hissed as they sat down heavily, all remaining happiness gone. "Cows, plural. This school could do with a few less dunderheaded gossips."

"Then it wouldn't be our hoggy warty home away from home," Albus snorted.

"Either of you know what's up?" Ryan asked as soon as he noticed them sitting across from him. "The teachers look like they're about to start laying dragon eggs."

The eyes Rose turned to him were bursting with discomfort, but what she said was, "Sorry." Both cousins were mostly relieved when Headmistress Sprout stood and cleared her throat, though all others in her audience caught their breath.

"Thank you. As you all know, this will be the last we see of you for several months - and some of you shall never return, off to seek your fortunes. To those, we bid adieu, and to the others, we bid au revoir. Before we begin the feast, there are a few announcements.

"Firstly, we all know the Hogwarts House Cup goes to Gryffindor. This-" And she paused to allow the uproar of cheers to subside enough so she could speak over them. "This may not come as news to most of you, as they've had a respectable lead for at least two months. However, this doesn't mean we shouldn't congratulate them on their dedication to learning and scholastic achievement." Another roar went up, and as she motioned for quiet once again the Hogwarts banners changed to Gryffindor colours. "Yes, yes, well done Gryffindors. But I'm afraid this second item of news won't-"

Just then, the doors creaked open. Because Sprout had stopped speaking herself, everyone else turned to better see the latecomer. Albus wasn't surprised to find Jezabel slipping in through the tiny crack she'd created, but he had rather hoped it was Urran or some guest of honour instead. After noticing she had the Great Hall's undivided attention, she did the bravest thing he'd ever seen her do: she gave a small wave, curtsied, and hurried to plop down next to him. Elizabeth Larkins scooted down to admit her meager frame, but she needn't have made an effort.

"I'm afraid," Professor Sprout repeated, "that this second item of news is less agreeable than the first. On the one hand, let it be known that the true perpetrator of the crimes against nonliving Hogwarts residents - or 'ghosts', as one might call them - has at last been uncovered."

"Thank Merlin!" Dorika burst out in a carrying whisper, and one or two students laughed.

Sprout permitted herself a weak smile. "Indeed. However, this comes at a great price. The person responsible, you see, made it quite impossible to bring them to justice. And, when faced with possible deaths of innocent bystanders, a choice was made, and a life was lost." Everyone in the room was gripped by her speech now, including the teachers and staff who were sure to have fully learned of this already. "I regretfully inform you that young Atticus Malkin ensured his own death."

 _"WHAT?"_ Genevieve Nott burst out, automatically at her feet. Scorpius stood with her, mouth hanging open as he numbly placed an arm around the girl's shoulders. Albus glanced up and down the Slytherin table and saw that while a handful of them looked hurt, mostly the others seemed confused.

Sprout heaved a sigh before clearing her throat again. "The administration and staff are devastated that none of us had the opportunity to speak with him, help him see reason and forsake the path of darkness. But this chance is forever gone. The boy did, in fact, hold the very lives of his fellow students in his hands when the end came. He brushed aside matters of decency and respect and selfishly sought his own desires, own goals. Untimely death became the unavoidable outcome of such egocentricity. It's a staggering decision, to halt a young man in the dawn of life in order to save others... but there's no such thing as a world populated with easy choices. The noblest of Ministry wizards have searched for one to no avail. Please believe that if there had been a way to avoid this, to incarcerate him without allowing those who had done no wrong to perish, he would be in the custody of Aurors as we speak. Alas, he made that impossible. Our only regret is that despite the efforts of Hogwarts staff to impart in all our charges the fragility and worth of every precious life, Mr Malkin showed such callousness and poor judgement."

Albus felt his breath catch in his throat at this last word. Was the Headmistress making a joke at Malkin's expense? Surely not. It could only be a coincidence in phrasing. Rose, to one side, was still watching their Headmistress, a somber expression in place. Jezabel, on the other, was staring into the empty table, doing her best not to show any emotion at all. That struck Albus as a towering crime. Hadn't she saved everyone from putting up with his dangerous shenanigans?

Meanwhile, across the Hall, Genevieve Nott was shaking with fury and anguish. Both Scorpius and Lysandra Rosier had managed to calm her into her seat again, provided her with a handkerchief, but that seemed to be all they could manage.

"The Feast will continue as planned," Sprout was saying - had she continued speaking all along? Perhaps Albus had merely tuned it out for a moment. "Though I daresay it's difficult to muster an appetite in the face of such news. Please take a moment out of this evening, either now or in private, to reflect on the misspent days of Atticus Malkin, and how in the future, through fellowship and love, we might do better to prevent letting another of our number go so far astray."

And she sat. What were they supposed to do now? A bubble of hushed conversation began to make its way through the room as students undoubtedly began to wonder how this had happened. Apparently, the identities of Malkin's executioners were going to be kept under wraps. Albus felt this was probably for the best - and it proved that, occasionally, elders listened to the young.

"That poor blighter," Elizabeth whispered. "I really hope this isn't my fault..."

"How can it be your fault?" Rose frowned. "Come to that, I assumed you would have suspected Dorika as well, after you put the Tongue-Tying Curse on her."

Their classmate squirmed, twisting her fingers up in her lap. "Well, about that... the reason I put that curse on her in the first place was because she... she caught me in an embarrassing situation. Criminy, why didn't I think of that before? It makes perfect sense, now, no wonder I got attacked!"

"What?" Albus prodded.

"Dorika happened to catch Atticus, er... asking me out on a date." When this announcement was greeted with silence, she cried, "What, is it that surprising? I'm not so hideous that a boy would never ask me!"

"No, no, it's not that," Ryan laughed. "Just didn't figure Malkin for the kind of bloke to go around courting non-Slytherins. He seems like a true pureblood-fanboy if ever there was one."

 _"Seemed,"_ Elizabeth corrected, which wiped the smirk off his face straightaway. "I just... well, I probably wouldn't have said yes either way, but I'm afraid I dismissed him... out of hand."

"You mean you told him he was the ugliest toad you've ever seen and that he ought to get bent," Aqua elaborated matter-of-factly from her other side.

"Essentially," she admitted, slumping down further into her seat. "Now I feel ruddy awful. What if I... you don't think I drove him to it, do you?"

"Not really," Rose sighed. "That is, I think he was already up to mischief long before he asked you out. Your spurning him probably only made you a target yourself, and you already paid for that."

Elizabeth frowned into her goblet of pumpkin juice. "Maybe..."

Her reaction to the news brought Albus back to another feeling he had buried: his own guilt at suspecting both Dorika and Jezabel, regardless of how briefly he entertained such notions. How he wished he could say he'd known it wasn't them all along, that he'd known it must be another student whom he'd already hated. But for a brief, horrible second he'd actually wondered if Jezabel was capable of such atrocities, because Malkin had so beautifully arranged for them to stumble upon her standing over Dryden's (would-be) corpse. The absence of their Potions Master at the High Table didn't seem to help Albus put such feelings aside.

Perhaps this is why, after everyone had picked at their meals without enthusiasm and Headmistress Sprout had sent them to their dormitories, Albus dragged Rose up to the hospital wing to look in on him. She seemed to think he was making too much ado over it, but with the castle's luck with hanging onto teachers he wasn't sure he ought to wait until start of next term. He would also have brought Jezabel along... if he could find her. Realistically, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have let three guests visit at once, anyway - she all but boxed their ears for pestering her at all.

"He is in no fit condition to entertain guests!" the matron blustered. "Besides, you and all of your peers ought to be packing right about now, oughtn't you?"

"She's right, Al," Rose said soberly, nodding vigorously. "Let's leave it for now, let the poor man get his-"

"Please, ma'am?" Albus insisted. "After everything that happened last night, there really are a few things we should discuss."

"Such as?"

She had him there. "Er... just things. Come on, he was slashed to ribbons by the idiot our friend had to murder. I can't help but feel obligated."

An over-heavy sigh told him immediately that she was going to cave. "Five minutes, then out you go - and for Peverell's sake, keep your voices down! This is a place of healing, not an auctioneer's block!"

The Potions Master was in a sorry state, to be kind. Though there was no more blood on either him or the bedclothes, the severe scarring on his tanned arms and chest were still quite visible; he only hoped her medicinal spells could reduce their visibility. Some brownish crusting remained in his close-cropped hair, which turned Rose's stomach enough that she clutched Albus's arm for support.

"As I've said," the matron insisted, "he has had rather a tough time of late. Perhaps if you wake early enough tomorrow, you might make it down to-"

"No, no," the man said weakly, scarcely moving to speak. "They are welcome to... stay for a moment. I'm fine. P... please leave us."

A loud tutting noise. "I really should be used to such treatment by now," she scoffed, bustling along to compile a shopping list for the apothecary or some other such busywork.

"Professor, did you know that the chimaera was-"

"A talisman, yes." Albus couldn't help but wonder at how the man's usually-raspy voice was ten times raspier at present. "Thought to be a myth. Now... perhaps in my weakened state, I... merely dreamed it, but I seem to... recall Finch-Fletchley stopping by to... tell me the real ne'er-do-well was-"

"Malkin," Rose growled. "The git almost got you."

"Indeed," he half-laughed. "And I was... so looking forward to giving him... remedial Potions. If you can't take... constructive criticism, what hope do you... have of improving?"

"How did you know, sir?" Albus whispered. "About the Chimaera of Judgement, I mean."

"All wizards  _know,_ " he laughed - which was a horrifying thing to hear at just that moment. "Few believe it to be real. Though I... expect that may change, with the... new light you've shed on the topic."

"But both you and Professor Peele thought it might be happening here, long before things had gone to the dogs."

A single one of Dryden's piercing blue eyes opened at last to focus on Albus, heavy brow furrowing deeply. "Interesting the level of intel a... common student has gathered. Hmm... yes, Professor Peele first approached me, hoping that... she could confide her suspicions in the one teacher whom had... been employed here no longer than she. Wise, I think. We continued to postulate whether or not it... could exist, and how likely it would be that... a student should come to possess something so powerful. Right up until the girl who escaped my House nearly shuffled me loose this plane of existence."

"It wasn't her," Rose immediately told him.

"True, true," he replied. "But as you may have noticed, she was unable to truly... cause either of you harm. On the other hand... well, I'm told my stay in this bed shall be extended."

Albus didn't exactly know what to say on that; true, she had dealt him great harm, but it was beyond her ability to resist. So then how had she stopped Malkin from forcing her to kill him? Was it merely that the Killing Curse was too severe to channel through someone else, or did Dryden have a valid point?

"There's just one other thing, Professor," Albus asked, a lump lingering in his throat from the unanswered question. "What we heard you talking about... in your office, the night we were to serve detentions. It made us think, possibly, that, er-"

"That it was I trying to murder my own students?" he asked with a wan smile.

"We do feel awful about that," Rose put in. "Honestly. Sorry."

"Quite all right, quite all right." He sighed. "It's a touch embarrassing, but if you... must have this for your records, I was rather upset with... the Committee For Magical Recognition. They submit advancements in various magical... fields, and whether they are worthy of note or, better yet, awards, to the... Ministry brass. Order of Merlin, you understand. And, as you have learned in class, they have been sorely mistaken in... giving Belby the nod for my potion."

"Ahh," Albus muttered. "Wolfsbane."

"It was  _mine!_ " he growled, for the first time attempting to rise from his pillow. "And Belby stole it!"

"Shhh," Rose soothed, glancing over her shoulder. Madam Pomfrey had looked up, scowling, but Rose flashed her a winning smile that seemed to satisfy their overseer. Dryden motioned for a glass of strong-smelling liquid on the nearby table, and Albus held it to his mouth as Rose said, "But Damocles Belby was an amazing potioneer, everyone knows that. How could he have-"

"I was his apprentice," Dryden grunted, clutching his chest as he leaned back once more. "In the days leading up to the end of the first war. Belby was working on a lot of things then, and I... wanted to come up with something that would truly impress not only my master, but the entire community. The old codger was so flabbergasted that I had stumbled upon such a revolutionary solution that he couldn't bring himself to admit his greenhorned help had shown him up!"

Albus frowned. "So he what, submitted it himself?"

"The very day before I planned to do so. Ohh, we had many an argument - many a duel! But they always ended in a draw, with Belby telling me to 'get over it' and returning to his pleasant status as a boon to werewolfkind. It nearly drove me mad."

"Dueling?" Rose said uncertainly. "Over bragging rights to a Potion?"

He grimaced, causing the horrifying old scar on his face to twist and contort. "How do you think I ended up with the hideous 'badge of honour' I currently sport across my features?"

Rose nodded glumly, and Albus cleared his throat to ask, "So what happened in the end?"

"I killed him."

Both Rose and Albus took in a sharp breath, glancing into each other's slackening faces. "No," she breathed.

"Yes." He heaved a great sigh, now gazing out of the window on the far wall at the sliver of moon in the sky. "It was what must have been the eighth or ninth duel between us, and I got in a lucky strike. One might think, given the year we spent almost exclusively in each other's company, that I would have learned he had what must be the most debilitating allergic reaction to horseradish in known history. Alas, before I could concoct a potion to reverse the effects - for only the head mediwizard at St. Mungo's could have an incantation at hand to do so - he was gone, and I was facing the Wizengamot.

"Two long years in Azkaban. My sentence was reduced from life, given that the duel was freely entered into by both parties and that, under Veritaserum, I attested that I had no prior knowledge of Belby's allergies. However... as he lost his life over 'his' vaunted invention, they halted their investigation into my claims that I had been the one who truly perfected it. I've been trying to badger them into giving credit where credit is due ever since. Twenty years..."

All lapsed into silence. A moment passed, and Rose tapped Albus on the shoulder to indicate that she had had quite enough and was spooked sufficiently to wish for a speedy escape. He did stand, but said, "Professor?"

"Hmm?"

"I do apologise for thinking that you might have been the ghost-manipulator. That is, after we overheard you and you told me not to repeat it, I thought maybe... that you redoubled your efforts to tell me how good I was in Potions to, I dunno... butter me up."

"Nothing of the kind," Dryden said quietly, leaning back with a more serene expression in place. "If you take nothing else away from this little chat... please, don't question your aptitude with a cauldron. You most assuredly have the gift. Trust me, I am the last wizard who would  _ever_ bend the truth when it comes to Potions."

_END Chapter Fifty-Three_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, I hate this part - ending a fic once and for all. But when we must, we must. I really enjoyed writing the bit with Dryden at the end there, been sitting on it for so long it was nice to get it down. Right then, see you soon. Next chapter is IT. Grand finale! No idea what's next for this author... perhaps published original works?
> 
> ...naaah.


	54. Ties To The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This being the last note, I'm holding court up top this time; it seems tacky to babble like a ninny AFTER the end of the story. [QUICK EDIT: I've been asked twice now... which means it's my fault for never finding a good place to mention it, so here we go, THINGS I FORGOT: Rose can see thestrals because she witnessed a traffic accident when she was small, in which she saw one of the persons involved die. Nobody she knew, just an innocent Muggle, but it still upset her. As you can see, it's only moderately interesting, so I kept putting off and putting off its inclusion... and then never did get around to it. Sorry! Let's see... :digs through notes: Dunno who made the connection that one of the Chimaera's stones belonged to Professor Trelawney, because though I had Malkin mention it, I'm not sure it was very clear. It was the black one, by the way. Jezabel's (adoptive) brother's name is Marcus... after her great-grandfather. Her parents' names were Lance and Regina. Wow, sadly I only ever named her sister in the text. Wombie was, of course, the name of Rose's old teddy - it was rather beaten up and haggard, and when Rose began to grow out of needing one she handed it off to Albus for safe-keeping. Aiden McLaggen and Brunhilda Vane are brother and sister, though neither know it; parents divorced when they were babies and each picked the kid they wanted. Awful. Dryden's mother was Native American; hard to slip that one in there. "Venterefercio" is a Stomach-Cramp Jinx. HAHA, here's a good line I never had the opportunity to use: "Her fist lashed out and connected with a marble statue of a goblin, which yelped at her in protest." I had the wonderful, giddy idea to name Scorpius's little sister Hydrangia - luckily I had no chance to follow through on it. If there's ever anything else you were wondering about, let me know and I'll update it here eventually. JX]
> 
> Earnestly, verily, superfluously, THANK YOU ALL for reading. This is the lengthiest single project I've guided through to fruition, and regardless of whether or not it has any literary merit, I look on it with a sort of pride, like a mother and her child. Or something along those lines. This feeling... there's really nothing like it on earth. I wish all of you to feel this, through written word or song or just your daily lives. Now, enough of this sentimental pap - the final curtain awaits.
> 
> Au revoir.
> 
> -Jessex

The next morning, Albus awoke to find most of his bunkmates were already dressed and in the middle of packing. As long as he'd known them, only Caspian had ever bothered to pack the night before, and this year he had been through enough that no one was surprised that he left it for later. Rubbing his face, Albus quickly struggled into everyday Muggle clothing and began tossing his things into his trunk.

"Ready to head on home, Albie?" Ryan asked as he carefully packed the box that had once contained the cursed monocle. "Got the whole summer to decide when you're gonna tell the Quibbler what really happened a few nights ago."

"Why would you want to keep that thing?" Albus was actually curious, but he mostly asked to deflect Ryan's line of questioning.

"Why wouldn't I? All right, yeah, it's supposed to be yours, but... they won't let me keep the monocle itself, it's still cursed."

"Yeah, but- well, wouldn't you want to burn it? You were almost stuck there for all eternity!"

Ryan shrugged, tossing a pair of robes on top of it. "I lived there for a week. Sure, I was worried I'd never make it out, but I didn't die from it, and it's a fairly unique adventure. Seems kind of stupid to bin it without a backward glance, doesn't it?"

"I suppose. But I've had enough 'unique' adventures this year that it would be more unique to spend a boring summer sitting around Grimmauld Place."

"Suppose you have." Ryan closed and locked the lid, then walked over and clapped Albus on the shoulder. "Next year, if you're going to teleport through the castle and square off against a ghost-manipulating berk who locked me in a suit of armor - or The Angry One - bring me in on it, will you?"

Albus rolled his eyes, but what he said was, "Count on it."

"Believe me, it's not as much fun as it sounds," Caspian told them as he straightened his tie. Albus found himself unsurprised that even his Muggle clothing was presentable and dignified. "But an extra wand might have saved me from this headwound."

They soon joined Rose in the commonroom, where most of the students were piling their luggage so the house-elves could use their magic to transport it directly to the Express. "Haven't seen Jezabel this morning. Nobody has."

"Great," Albus groaned. "She's not lingering by Snape's tomb, is she?"

"Hadn't thought of that," Rose muttered. "But it's a distinct possibility."

With that thought weighing them down, the pair of them made their way into the dungeons at top speed, where they could take Jezabel's secret passageway out into the Forbidden Forest. Rose briefly expressed her displeasure at never having been let in on this little secret, but when he pointed out that they've had no real need to sneak out into the gloomy trees and unknown monsters it held, she seemed mollified. A few moments after they reached the other side, they had their bearings and found themselves in front of Snape's tomb, where they did, of course, find their friend.

"Creepy with an uppercase C," said Rose to announce their arrival. "Ho there."

 _"AHHH!"_ Jezabel exclaimed as she turned, hands clutching at her chest. Even gasping for breath as she was, Albus noted she was quite presentable this morning; could it be she had actually washed up of her own volition? He couldn't help but grin at this positive sign, and when she noticed this she responded in kind, albeit with less surety. "I, hello, er- so, I'm... how did you know I was here?"

"Hunch," said Albus. "All right?"

"Mostly." As she turned back to gazing at the tomb, she cleared her throat and asked, "The carriages are waiting for us, aren't they?"

"Probably."

All was silent for a few breaths. Albus and Rose took the opportunity to move in closer, standing behind and on either side. Then she asked, "Isn't it funny?"

"Er..." Rose glanced at Albus for help, but he only half-shrugged. "Not the word I'd have chosen, but... how do you mean?"

"All those afternoons and evenings I spent here, feeling so isolated and lonely... and I was this close to finding out I had an entire set of extraneous family history. That I had a father who died a hero, and a mother who lived out her days a villain..."

"And that you were supposed to have grown up as Scorpius's aunt-slash-sister," Rose laughed. "Almost makes you glad his grandmum chickened out and passed the buck."

"Now there's something that's still got me flummoxed," Albus muttered, chewing his lip. "You were all set to be Narcissa Malfoy's daughter, raised by them, or by Draco or something. But then Bellatrix ended up with the bun in the oven. If that's the case... why  _did_ you get sent to live with random Muggles up in Leeds instead?"

"Oh, that's rather simple," Jezabel answered carelessly; her brilliant mind was obviously on larger matters, but could multitask. "In the many hours of contemplation I've spent since we returned from our excursion, I finally recalled an insignificant factoid; my adoptive mother's grandfather was named Marcus Snape."

"Right," Rose gusted. "Far-fetched, but that would make a touch more sense. Your parents are really just distant relatives, eh?"

"Mm." Her head was slowly shaking from side to side as she continued to stare at the tomb. "Could be a mere coincidence, but somehow, I doubt that. Funny. My answers were right here, all along."

"I'm sure there's no way this slab of stone could have told you any of that," said Albus.

"But I was  _drawn_ to it, wasn't I? Of course, it is so out of the way that a social outcast such as I would have found it sooner or later, but... but I found it almost immediately. I-" She had to work at getting the next words out. "When no one would recognise me as even the lowest form of life, m-my father was there for me. As if this was the only way he could reach out to his daughter, all he could offer me. And it helped me so much! If I hadn't had a safe haven, a- a sanctuary between the boughs, I know I wouldn't have survived the first five years of my magical education."

That was no less disturbing to hear than Rose's description of her extensive scarring, or Malkin's declaration that he was going to use Caspian to kill Rose. "Jez-"

"Don't belittle that," she pleaded, turning at last. "I mean it, every word. There were honestly times when being able to shut out the teasing and taunting for an hour or two was all that enabled me to go on living. Even then, it didn't seem at all smart. Learning - that's what I came here for. And because the old Headmistress told me I could belong. But when the rest of the student body tries their damndest to convince me otherwise, it makes it all but impossible to keep it up."

Rose twitched. Albus only had enough time to turn to her before she choked out, "I'm sorry. Jezabel, I- I really am, I don't know how I c-can-"

"What do you mean?" she asked, taken aback. "It isn't your fault, it's no one's fault but my own."

"I believed it! For a minute there, I- I actually believed you could be the one controlling the ghosts! And that you killed Professor Dryden! Because you screamed out that you wanted him sacked!"

"Ahh... he did snap at me when he ran into me outside. By which I mean literally tripped and fell over my legs; he wasn't watching where he was going. It wasn't an international crisis, I just wish he wouldn't take out his temper on me."

A quick rub at her nose, and Rose went on, staring down at the grass. "You're right, that doesn't matter. That shouldn't have given me any doubts, I know you better! Malkin had you proclaiming to the four corners that you were a homicidal maniac, and I bought it, and I never should have, and I'm so, so sorry!"

Both Jezabel and Albus laid hands on either of her shoulders, and Jezabel whispered, "Don't worry. I'm sure he made a reasonable case for it - I mean, he was using my own body!"

"But I thought I was a more staunch friend than that. I'm really disappointed in myself."

Albus snorted - he couldn't help it. "You're human, it happens. I wasn't sure for a second, but we both came to our senses. Now, if a centaur started telling us the same thing..."

"Shut up," she snapped, though she sounded as if she partly wanted to laugh. "I'm trying to apologise, here."

"Apology accepted," Jezabel said at once. "You risked a lot to save me in the end - both of you, and Mr Lewis. That's worth its weight in Galleons to me."

"And you stopped Malkin from destroying me in Dryden's office," Albus added.

Rose's face screwed up. "Yeah... but only because he couldn't get Jezzy to do the Killing Curse. It's not as if he didn't give it an honest go. Why'd he fail?"

"The same reason Dorika couldn't do it," Albus answered at once. "I've thought about it, and that's all I can come up with: it's too hefty a spell to channel through someone else, I reckon."

"I'm not so sure," Jezabel spoke up. When both of them looked at her in surprise, she nodded slightly. "I can't remember a single thing that happened in that room with the both of you and Dryden's paralysed form, but the one image I do have is... something ugly and wrong reaching out for you, Albus. And I sank my teeth in and stopped it."

"You did? I m-mean... you actively stopped it from happening?"

"I suppose. It's the only thing that matches that sensation. I assumed it was some dreamlike manifestation of the events I was out of commission for, but... if it was really a spot of reality seeping in, and I affected it, then I'm ever so glad!"

The grin broke out across his face again. "Me, too."

"Yeah, I'll bet Dorika did the same thing," said Rose. "I'd never expect a good person like her to let someone use her body to commit murder. Except... well, she wasn't as thorough in holding it off, was she?"

"Not quite," Albus sighed. "Just ask Professor Peele."

"Farewell, Father," said Jezabel softly, running her hand along the smooth, black surface of the grave that contained a person who had once been of no consequence to her. "Thank you for my life, my wand... and my peace of mind. Such that it is, anyway."

Albus blinked at hearing this. "Won't you be coming back to visit more often, now that you know who he is?"

"I don't think so." She took a moment to shake open the travelling cloak Albus's mother had bought her and readjust it. "It's a bit... I'm just not sure it's healthy to spend all your time speaking to dead relatives. I may come now and again, but not regularly."

"Hang on a tick," Rose muttered. "Are you... you're not actually wearing that beastly thing, are you?"

"Oh," she giggled, letting her cloak fall open to expose her Weasley sweater. "I am. It's quite cozy; in fact, the cloak on top of it is almost a bit too much, I'm rather-"

"But I thought you hated it," said Albus.

"Of course not, it's lovely! It's... one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me." One of her hands was twisting a stray lock of hair around her finger. "I never thanked you properly. Sorry."

"But... hang on," Rose half-laughed. "If you liked it all along, why'd you all but throw it back in his face?"

"Because you two were fighting over it. It was already a bit much to take, your trying to 'adopt' me into your family when I already have one... I understood how you meant it, and it was awfully touching. Still is. But Rose didn't seem to think you had the right. Why would I want a gift that was going to make you bicker over whether or not I deserved to be an honourary Weasley?" A second passed before she gasped and said, "Wait, that- I didn't mean for that to come out as harshly as I- I'm sorry, Albus, it really is-"

"No, you're right," he cut her off. "We were acting like prats, and right in front of you. Don't know how you were supposed to accept it graciously in the middle of a fight."

"I'd say that's my misstep," Rose sighed. "Again. I seem to make an awful lot of those."

Jezabel shrugged, leading them off toward the secret entrance that would lead them into the castle. "After a while, it occurred to me that you wouldn't have had it made if you didn't sincerely wish for me to have it. So, I decided not to let that flare-up stop me."

That left Albus feeling nothing short of impressed. The old Jezabel, the one of a few short months ago, would probably have burned the sweater if she thought it was causing any tension between anyone - or simply refused outright to accept any kind of gift at all. She surely had grown in many ways over the course of a year. Perhaps they all had.

"There," Rose whispered as she pushed a single Sickle into his palm.

"What's this?"

The look on her face was somewhat grumpy, but it didn't hide her true mood, which was uplifted. "Eh, fair is fair. Wouldn't want you calling me a welcher."

o o o

Aside from the cry of surprise and alarm loosed when the three of them arrived at the carriages - and found they could all now see the thestrals pulling them along, not just Rose - their return from Professor Snape's gravesite was uneventful. For Albus, this was, in fact, too eventful as it was, so the absence of any further excitement was fine with him.

The Express was waiting for them when they arrived, the last three passengers. Albus and Rose hugged Hagrid goodbye, and Jezabel waved modestly from further back. Then Albus and Rose were to join the other prefects, and Jezabel was left to find her own seat - but they were more optimistic when they caught sight of Caspian signaling to her.

Once they were seated and listening to Barty drone on and on about how lax their methods had grown over past term, both of their ears perked up when they heard, _"Psst!"_ Both of them continued to nod off for a moment before the noise sounded again, bearing a different message.

"Weasley!"

Albus looked around and was shocked to find the source to be Scorpius. When he peered up and down their car, aghast at this development, he saw Genevieve was not at his side, but in another seat a few rows ahead of them. He felt sure his face was the picture of befuddlement when he hissed, "What do  _you_ want?"

"None of your concern, Paltry Potter," he snapped. "I was talking to Rose."

She, of course, had no more warmth in her voice than Albus had. "And why should I want to talk to you any more than Al does?"

"My dad has asked me to find out how much Scurvy wants for the Lestrange estate," he grumbled.

"And I should know? Why not ask her yourself?"

"Because I've actually got some tiny drop of respect for you," he told her, flushing as much as a pale boy like that was capable of. "Between you, the Great Mistake and Son Of Messiah there, it's not a difficult choice."

"Hmm. You know, if I were a younger, less learned witch, I might find myself with the mistaken impression that you're...  _fond_ of me."

Trying his hardest not to guffaw aloud and disrupt their cousin's speech, Albus found himself marvelling at the way colour could drain from one's face while rising at the same time. He really ought to invest in a camera for times like these... "That's- now you're just making a fool of yourself."

"Thought you and Genevieve were all over each other," Albus couldn't help but remark (though he wished dearly to point out which of them looked most foolish). "What's the matter, isn't she Slytherin enough for you anymore?"

"Oh, really?" he scoffed, attempting to regain control of this dangerous conversation. "That only shows how poor your powers of perception really are. Genevieve always had a bit of a soft spot for Malkin, don't you know."

Rose's eyebrows shot up as she replied, "Oh?"

"Yeah. Looked like they were just getting on better through the shared experience of the whole school despising them. Although, I suppose she'll never get the chance to tell him as much." For a moment, he appeared less flustered and more sullen than usual. "Nasty business, that. But he's been trending in that direction for a while now. Never understood what she saw in that dullard."

For a moment, they could do no more than stare into space, burdened by the thought of a death on Hogwarts premises for the first time in ages. Mostly to break the tension, Rose said, "Well, if you're going to go about courting your, er, 'queen', a bit more tact and grace is in order, I should say."

"Get knotted, Weasley. Just pass the message on to Scurvy."

"Happily."

And they rode on in silence, pretending to be fully absorbed by Barty's reiteration that they weren't to use the pets of first years as frisbees.

When time came to patrol the rest of the train, Albus and Rose were the first ones out, blowing past Tranky and down the aisles. The incomprehensible sight of Wendelyne Moore talking animatedly to Martin Finnigan in one car was almost enough to send him back a few steps, but Rose nudged him forward with her wand point. The fact that Kayla Sylvanus and Tanith Moon were poking their heads out of the doors across the way was enough to make him agree that they had best not dally.

They were nearly at the back when they found Jezabel. Fears and worries thundered through his mind - would she be all right? Had she got on okay with Caspian? What about the other students who were sure to have been stuck in the same car when they found everywhere else full? But he needn't have worried.

Timothy Goyle and Chester Pucey were curled up on the floor, fast asleep and sucking their thumbs. They'd also found a way to sprout pink and yellow antlers. When he glanced around the rest of the cabin at Jezabel, Caspian, Hugo and Monica Grey, the other three all shrugged and nodded at Jezabel.

"They were being needlessly rude," she said sheepishly, twisting her hands in her lap. "And I didn't want Caspian getting in any more trouble for my sake."

Once they had disposed of their unwanted baggage by dumping it in a neighboring compartment - the sign on the door said the seats were broken - Hugo and Monica squeezed over to admit the prefects, and they spent the rest of the trip gossiping.

"Lily's in a car with that Francis Atherton," Hugo sighed. "Wish you could drive a wedge between them, it's awfully dull without her."

"Wait, wait," said Albus, struggling to keep up. "I thought Lily fancied Joseph Moran."

Monica made a face. "Moran's a bit of a, er... how shall I put it? Gentleman about town. I'd say Lily's well shut of a boy like that."

"So then, what's this Atherton like? He's not on any House team... what House is he in, anyway?"

Rose made a sound that was some bizarre combination of laugh, cough and sigh of disgust. "Lunkhead."

And then they were at King's Cross, disembarking at Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters. They took their time, Albus carefully balancing Dobby's cage and Rose doing her best to check and doublecheck that she hadn't left her wand behind. Only a sparse crowd remained by the time they could no longer stall, mostly children waiting for parents who were running behind.

Rose went first, followed by Caspian. Albus gestured for Jezabel to precede him, and she nodded at him before disappearing through the wall. Once he saw she had gone through okay, he did the same, and found himself in the bustling crowd that seemed to magically replenish itself.

"Let's hope our sixth is less perilous," Caspian muttered to them as he moved on to find his ride.

"One can only," Albus laughed. "See you."

"There's Mum and Dad!" Rose was shouting. "And yours, too, Al, they're a bit further along - come on!"

"Sure," he shouted. "Just... hold up a second!"

She glanced over her shoulder, puzzled, then saw him staring at the way Jezabel was poring over a scrap of paper. With a quick nod, she strode over and patted Jezabel on the shoulder. "Got a message for you."

"Oh!" she gasped, smiling. "What's that?"

"Scorpius says his father wants to buy your premises. Any intention of taking him up on it?"

"Well, I... haven't given it much thought," she admitted. "Though I daresay I have two estates all to myself, and it might be wise if I chose one to live in - I have little need of a summer home!"

"Suppose not," Rose muttered before squaring her shoulders. "Did my part, anyway. Don't be a stranger, eh, Skirrow?"

"N-no, of course not! See you soon!"

And Rose slugged her cousin hard in the bicep, winked, and began to push her way through the crowd toward Albus's aunt and uncle, Hugo weakly struggling in her wake.

Then they were alone. Of course, he caught sight of a student or two still looking for their family, or else boarding another train, but none noticed him trying to find the words to sum up what had transpired between he and the girl he had almost never met.

"You needn't make a fuss," she half-laughed, feet stepping all over each other. "I've an Underground to navigate. Now, let's see; to make my way to Victoria, I need to head over-"

"Jez..."

"Oh, don't say anything like 'goodbye'," she pleaded. "I'm not sure I- well, it would be impossible to hear, I don't want to hear you say it, so I'll be running along now, all right?"

"Come on, don't be so stand-offish. There's no reason we can't-"

"I'm guilty of  _manslaughter!"_ Luckily, the majority of the milling travellers were far too busy with their own affairs to take notice of her public admission, but Albus glancing around like a cat with a feather in its mouth wasn't likely to reduce any suspicions. "Why should you desire my company?"

"We all had a hand in it," he reminded her, taking a step closer to make the conversation as private as they could under the circumstances. "And Malkin made sure of his own death. You and I both know that very,  _very_ well. Those faerie tales from your childhood didn't make him go wrong so you'd have to stop him, you know? Sometimes bad things just happen. Don't put it all on your own head, that's not your responsibility."

"I know, I know," she sighed. "Sharing the weight and all. But this... do you actually expect me to snap my fingers and no longer care that I ended someone's life? It may have been the only choice, but I... but my hands are so very stained, and to put them anywhere near a good and decent soul as you is nothing short of, of...  _sin!"_

Albus paused to take a look at the girl's cheeks, shining with tears and sweat from the cloak she was still wearing in the muggy air inside the platform. She was an authentically beautiful person, and it wasn't just because she'd been made to accept bathing as non-optional - she was still beautiful when she was sporting the "drowned rat" look. The moment he'd had a brief view of her eyes the Autumn previous on the Express, the discovery had lodged itself in a corner of his soul; Jezabel Evelyne Skirrow-Snape-Malfoy-Lestrange was one of the good eggs. All the conversations and predicaments they'd underwent from then on only strengthened it, helped it grow. It was a certainty that he would stake his life on - and, in a way, he had several times.

In her mind, she was trying to render him a service by shoving him away. It did little to lessen the hurt, but he could at least understand. None of that could really make him believe this was how they were going to part ways. "Very well. But just remember that it's a sin I'd rather we live with than throw it all away." He turned and began to push his trolley away, Dobby crying out at the sudden movement. Before he left her behind, he thought of something to add. "I really wanted to invite you over sometime this summer, though. And the offer stands. Think about it, yeah?"

A fidget. "I'm sorry. Perhaps later. I have... a good deal of coping ahead of me."

"We all do, but, well, coping with friends usually seems to go by faster, I've found. Bye."

Eons flowed by like treacle as Albus forced his way between businessmen and tourists to where Ginny Potter and his sister were waiting impatiently. Should he turn back and assure her that he didn't feel like her plan of going back to her indifferent family and spending the summer alone was particularly sound? No. It was a strong urge, but he had to respect her wish for time. They would be sure to see each other come September first, and he would be overjoyed when they did. For now, he had catching up to do with his own clan.

"Finally," his mother said as soon as he was within earshot. She pulled him into a warm hug, then patted him on the back and whispered, "Let's get out of this madhouse and into the car."

Again, they had procured a Ministry automobile to lessen Muggle suspicions. He saw James and his father had gone on ahead and smashed all of his siblings' belongings in, and James was starting to push the trolleys back when the three of them arrived. Lily hastened to lend a hand, and his mother went straight to the front passenger's seat. That left the two of them to sort his things.

"So," his father said - and it was only then, with the look behind his glasses, the few extra grey hairs at his temples and the way his lightning scar appeared to have grown darker, that Albus figured out that his father must have heard everything by now. A student had died, and that wouldn't be restricted to a Hogwarts affair; the Ministry would have to be informed.

"Yep."

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "I take it this wasn't the brand of excitement you were hoping for at start of term."

Albus's mind reeled. He'd been such a whiny prat ten short months ago. In a way, perhaps he had brought it all upon himself. "Merlin, Dad... I think I'd rather have my boring old life back."

"Mmm. Can't say I'm surprised it ended the way it did," he grunted as he helped heave the trunk into the spacious boot. "Some student who was not relatively prominent nearly bumps off half the castle, and most of the staff perform such a cack-handed investigation that nothing comes to light until there's a corpse. Déjà vu."

"Not for me, it isn't," Albus told him bluntly. "You sound like Professor Dumbledore's portrait."

"He told me he'd had a conversation with the three of you. The Headmaster... he means well, but sometimes his advice is as easy to take as cough syrup."

"What kind of syrup?"

"Nevermind, er... Muggling myself." For a long moment, he stood there with his hand on the lid of the boot, staring at his middle child in wonder. "But the important thing is the ordeal is over. Regrettable that the twerp couldn't be brought to justice, but at least he's now quite incapable of disturbing the peace of Hogwarts in the future. The Chimaera of Judgement, previously thought to be a figment, is now being scrutinised by Cousin Teddy down in the Department of Mysteries - you and your friends may receive commendations for turning up such a treasure. If they can determine no way of rendering it impotent, I'm sure the artifact will be destroyed, and the jewels that had been stolen returned to rightful owners."

"Well, that's a positive, at least." Albus couldn't bring himself to sound cheerful.

"Oh, don't look so glum! You not only survived, but you did your best to make sure this disastrous year came to a spectacular close - and you did it your way, not some patented 'Harry Potter The Chosen One' way. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. That school tends to need saving every so often, and I'm very proud of you for doing the honours this year, son. Very proud - and I'm sure Grandfather Potter would say the same if he could see you now, standing here."

Albus smiled. That he was not a mere clone of his father was exactly what he'd been needing to hear. The words of gratitude wouldn't come out quite the way he intended, so like any boy too uncomfortable to accept praise, he changed the subject. "Thanks to your cloak, Dad. Malkin might have caught me if I hadn't been able to disappear, regroup. Does that... make me a coward?"

"Hmm, does using the Cloak to prevent the villain from turning you into porridge make you a coward? Hardly! How do you think I got through the Battle of Hogwarts? Without a way to escape the crossfire for a few minutes I'd have been blown to atoms." The gleam was unmistakable, and Albus almost laughed aloud. Would the man ever change? "I'd hoped it might come in handy. Wherever the feeling came from, I instinctively knew you'd need it far more than James. Bet he'd get a kick out of it, though."

"We'll never find out," Albus said firmly. "Because I'm keeping it in my pocket twenty-four, seven."

"Good man," he laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as he slammed the door. "That's an Auror's tack; constant vigilance and so on. Now be a sport and take your own cart back, I'll get the engine started again."

Within minutes they were pulling away from King's Cross, the three Potter children mysteriously comfortable in the backseat. Albus craned his neck to look behind them; it would be over two months before he saw it again. With so many means of magical travel open to them, there would simply be no need. More so than after any previous year, it felt final, like the shutting of a coffin lid. Even seeing Rose off, knowing they would probably speak again within days - it had been difficult. So much had transpired in such a short period that everything felt raw and alien. He saw himself as a vastly different man than he had been going into the year. Perhaps that was it: he might not be of age, but he was otherwise on his way to being a man.

"By the by," his mother was telling them as she checked her make-up in the rear-vision, "I know we were supposed to pop over to the Library tonight, but Neville - I mean, Professor Longbottom is coming round for a cuppa this evening. I suspect he wants to make sure you're all holding up well after the news."

"Come off it," James groused. "We barely even knew the git. And if he was really trying to snuff everyone in sight and giving the ghosts a bad reputation in the process, then who gives a flying fig?"

"Nice attitude," Lily shot at him. "You might at least feign a pang of grief, Atticus was a human being... of sorts, anyway."

"Haven't got it in me," he insisted. "Now, if he  _had_ managed to draw the curtains of a certain professor who actually handed me back a A when I know I scraped an E, I might be tempted to feel someth-  _AAHHHH!"_

The cry was shared by all three children, and Albus experienced a moment of sheer terror when their father nearly guided the car into a newsstand. Once things had calmed down, Albus heard a velvety voice he hadn't anticipated hearing for many days.

"Excuse my sudden intrusion, Mr and Mrs Potter, but... could you help me teleport my personal affects into your boot? They're back there on the kerb. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to unlock a magical transport."

"My pleasure, young lady."

Once Harry had produced his wand, Jezabel sat back and turned to Albus, normally pale face flushed. It was plain that she was terrified of every action she was taking. "You did mean it, didn't you? When you said-"

"Yeah," he laughed - and found it hard to stop laughing as he threw both arms around her. "As long as you like!" This action was not well thought-out, and he worried she would shove him away - but his heart soared when he felt Jezabel squeezing him back, face nestling into his neck for a brief moment. Apparently, she was consummately finished living the life of a shrinking violet, and it had been a long time coming.

"What's all this?" James bristled, literally smooshed up against the door due to Jezabel's sudden presence in their seat. "What's  _she_ doing here - and since when can she Apparate?"

He could see his mother smiling in the mirror as she continued applying her lipstick as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "It appears we'll be boarding a houseguest. You're quite welcome to the spare bed, dear." The sincerity in her voice when she offered this was so touching that Albus could almost feel his eyes misting over.

"Ooh, this sounds like great fun!" Lily giggled as Jezabel sat back. "We can braid each other's hair, I'll give you a full beauty treatment!"

Albus, still chuckling at the flash of dread that passed over Jezabel's face, asked her, "But I thought you wanted, y'know, some coping time."

She mimed checking a watch. "I also said 'Perhaps later,' and it is later, isn't it? As we've learned this past week, life is...  _far_ too short to spend moping and being indecisive. Besides... I've had enough time to myself to realise I'd much rather be spending it with you."

That was enough to make Albus feel warm. Once he felt her delicate fingers lacing through his, he fully expected steam to start whistling from his ears. Why was he always the last to know?

"Oi!" James spoke up as he readjusted his glasses. "If Al can have her over, why can't I bring Daphne Lane round for a week or two?"

"You're free to do so once you find your own living space," Harry admonished, a knowing frown playing at the corners of his mouth as he glanced back. "Why is it teenagers always think with their hormones?"

"This is really all right, isn't it, Albus?" she whispered to him. The not-so-Muggle-born not-so-Slytherin was close enough that he could see her shaking, watch her brown doe eyes flitting between him and his parents through her clean, flowing black tresses. "You're... not angry that I barged in this early in the summer? Maybe I should have waited a bit, given you a week with-"

"Jezabel," he cut her off, squeezing her hand for good measure. "Permission is yours."

And as the vehicle carried the Potters and one Skirrow through London toward Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, not even the disgusted noises and catcalls from Albus's siblings could make the unexpected, impassioned kiss any less magical.

_FINITE INCANTATEM_


End file.
